Gaia's Sorrow
by Makwa
Summary: In the Second Age of Humanity, the Time of Tumult has arrived. In these troubled days the once vanquished Solar Exalted have returned; and in the bleak and parched Southlands, four are chosen by the Unconquered Sun to be given their Second Breath.
1. Prologue

_**Gaia's Sorrow**_

_All came from Her_

_All will return to Her_

_Mother to all_

_._

_Her first children she brought forth,_

_The sea of potential_

_The stone that supports all_

_The flame who heats the forge_

_The seed that shadows life_

_The forgotten breath who no longer has a name_

_._

_Existence did they birth_

_Creation they carved for Her_

_From sea to seed_

_From fire to breath_

_around the stone they built all_

_._

_Her love for them knew no bounds,_

_for the gift they wrought for Her_

_but surely as life was sprung from nothing,_

_did nothingness give birth to life_

_And the darkness they cast,_

_fell on the first_

_So the mother knew sorrow_

_._

_Turning to Her second children,_

_they cast down the first_

_But only at the cost of breaking the name of breath,_

_was this victory allowed_

_Only through more of Her sorrow,_

_was Creation saved from unmaking_

)"(

**The Anathema**

The great Celestine of the Sun cast its morning glow on the majesty of the Imperial City. The capital of the Realm and center of Creation spread to a bursting level, barely contained in its thick and towering walls of granite. The city's structures rose higher and higher for the lack of space, with each trying to outdo the other in an opulent game to cast rival generations of architecture into obscurity. A full third of this metropolis was taken up by the Imperial Palace, the axis of the axis and location of the Scarlet Throne - the seat of the savior of Creation and mother to the modern world, the eternal Empress. However, it was common knowledge that the grand monarch was gone. Dead or merely watching from the shadows, the Empress no longer reigned; and her descendants, the eleven great houses of the Dynasty, poorly attempted to fill her void within the immense wings of the edifice - each a palace onto themselves.

Even in the labyrinth streets of the capital's main market, the Empyrean Bazaar, where the heavens were often choked by the city's skyline, the bastion of the Scarlet Empire was still visible. Kylene was awed by its make-up of sacred Jade and other rare and precious materials. The child had been born in the Imperial City, able to see the palace everyday from her family's store of leather bags and holders, and she still found it stunning. She wondered what it would be like to be one of the Dynasts, to have the blood of the Elemental Dragons coursing through her veins, able to call on the power of Creation's five elements. She had seen their glowing animas when the Legions went on parade. Their highborn officers let their inner power shine in hues of fiery red, deep sea black, stormy blue, arboreal emerald, and marble white. Their armor and weapons of Jade matched their corresponding element. Kylene was simply marveled by their beauty and might, wishing she was one, and not just a citizen, not just a daughter of a leather worker; and having to fret over the variety of animal hide quality or all the official Imperial measurements, making sure she memorized the exact length of a Dragon's finger or arm. It was just boring in comparison.

"I see you like the Palace, child." A gentle, feminine voice interrupted her view-taking.

Kylene swung around, taken back by the presence of a female monk. The clergywoman was dressed in the humble robes of the Immaculate Order, her head shaved to stubble, holding a simple staff. The most striking thing about the monk, was her gray eyes, very light, almost white. Minding her manners, Kylene cast down her sight, bowing to the Immaculate.

"Raise your eyes, child," she requested, and Kylene obeyed. "I've seen you looking at the Imperial Palace for nearly a Sun-Movement, what awes you so?"

Without thinking, she answered truthfully, "I love the Palace, it's so beautiful, like the Dragon Blooded. I wish I was one, so I could live there." Her eyes went wide with her admitted sin. It was not a mortals place to yearn for what was not theirs, but to accept their station and live that life to the fullest. "Oh, I didn't mean it...I'm happy as a leather worker's daughter. Please don't tell my mom what I said, please..."

The monk laughed. "Don't fret, child. I see you realize your mistake," and patted Kylene on her head of long ebony hair.

The child smiled. "Oh, thank you, Immaculate One. I know we should accept our life's role, and if we do, we'll be reborn into a higher station, and eventually into one of the Exalted."

"Yes indeed, you are a wise child. What's your name?"

"Kylene."

"My name is Ivory Eye. And you said you were a leather worker's daughter, correct?"

"Yes. I'll be a leather worker just like my mom, and her mom before her and so on. We make the best leather bags, even the legions buy from us. I remember when I was real small, a slave of House...House Mnemon came and bought a satchel from us too!"

Ivory Eye smiled, it was a very comforting and trusting smile. "That sounds like something to be very proud of Kylene. You should be very glad of that. Many would wish to be where you are, like you wish to be of the Chosen."

Kylene glanced down into the dirty street of the Bazaar, hiding her shame. "I know...My mom says so too. She even warns me if I keep wishing, an Anathema will come and eat my soul, and then take over my body, like in all those stories everyone's talking about." She looked back up at the Immaculate, fear replacing her guilt. From her parents table, to passing customers and other merchants, there were tales and rumors of the demons who wrapped themselves in the false light of the Sun; people were always afraid of the Anathema coming, but it was like they were everywhere now, more than old scary stories. "I heard about this one Anathema, who goes around, summoning a big spear from thin air to kill people; and then there's this other Anathema, who took over this hunter from Thorns...and did you hear about the Dynast's daughter who was even possessed..."

Ivory Eye silenced the child. Despite looking very concerned, she tried to bury it with another of her smiles. "Yes Kylene, there are many stories of the Anathema these days, but you are at the center of the Realm. You are safe here."

"But what about the Dynast's daughter? And the Anathema that appeared when my grandmother was my age, the one the Empress killed herself? What if one comes here, how would I know?" The child's voice filled ever more with panic.

The monk leaned down on one knee, taking Kylene's shoulder. "You can tell an Anathema by their glow, a golden mockery of the blessed Dragon Blooded's own anima."

"Don't they have marks on their head too?'

"Yes, see I told you, you are wise Kylene. Do you know what they are?"

Kylene shook her head no.

"That's okay," Ivory Eye replied. "I will tell you. The Anathema have five castes, each with a purpose of enslavement they used to terrorize our ancestors. They are all circles. The first is a ring surrounded by spokes, resembling Sunrays; they glow like a bloody dawn, and they are the Forsaken, the Anathema's arch warriors and enforcers. Then there are those whose ring is full, a solid disk, ridiculing the Sun's zenith; they would look down on us, preaching a false faith, so they are the Blasphemous. The third caste were the Unclean, who made pacts with fell things that dwell in twilight's shadows; their mark is half filled ring. And the Wretched, they really showed their falsehood, for no being of the Sun would dwell in the night like these Anathema; they could control the shadows, stalking those who would even whisper against the demon's rule, and even innocents. And the final manifestation of these foul beings are those represented by that unholy joining of the Sun and Moon."

"The eclipses?" Kylene had seen them, the first one appearing when she was very young. No one living had viewed one before, the Moon blocking the Sun's light. It created much terror and riots. She remembered hiding with her family in their cellar, everyone afraid.

The monk continued, "Yes, these ones are called the Deceivers; and their ring has a dot within, shaped like that twisting of the celestial pathways, like they twisted their words to enslave mortals and spirits alike with unfair oaths, killing those who refused. Those are the five castes of the demons who once ruled Creation."

Kylene then happily exclaimed, "Until the Immaculate Dragons came, and led the Dragon Blooded to overthrow them, right?"

Ivory Eye patted her head again. "Yes, the avatars of the Elemental Dragons, who led the true champions of Creation against these mockeries. They were no match against the might of all five Dragons united. Even their mates, the Moon-beasts abandoned them."

Kylene remembered the Moon-beasts. They were another kind of Anathema who falsely claimed power from the Moon instead of the Sun, becoming a vile mix of human and animal. They lived at the edge lands, where Creation bordered the chaos of the Wyld, dwelling with twisted savages and their own beastfolk offspring.

The Immaculate went on with her teaching, "And the Dragon Blooded slew them all, showed the falsehood of their god, and brought liberty for all humanity. Sometimes they try and return, like in the stories you hear, but they are known for the vile beings they are and slain."

The child bit her lip, still afraid. "But there's so many stories of them now, and the Empress is gone."

"I know Kylene. But the Empress might be watching. She has guided us for over seven-and-half centuries, and in that time has disappeared before to test her subjects' faith. And the rest of the Dynasty remains." Her words grew hollow though, as if she was trying to believe them, "The Empress was never alone in her struggles, even without her, we still have the rest of the Exalted to protect us."

"So you really think she will return," hope filling her, "like when the Contagion came and killed almost everyone, and the Fae invaded from the Wyld? She'll return and beat back the Anathema?" It was the story of the Realm, after the great plague destroyed the Shogunate of the Old Realm, the Empress united the surviving Dragon Blooded to form the Scarlet Empire. Which from it's heartland of the Blessed Isle, where the Elemental Pole of Earth stood in the form of the Imperial Mountain, stretching tail-lengths into the sky, the Realm ruled over the icy lands of the North that were forever cooled by the winds blowing off the Pole of Air; struggled for dominance beneath the forests of the East that were made abundant by the vibrancy of the Pole of Wood; oversaw the harsh deserts of the South who's sands were seared by the Pole of Fire; and even patrolled the distant Western Isles that bobbed on the endless oceans formed from the Pole of Water.

Ivory Eye grew a little sad, "I hope. I really do."

The pair were disturbed as Kylene's mother called for her. The Immaculate told her to go off then, with the Dragons' blessings, adding for her not to be afraid. Despite her kind face and trusting smile, and even as young as she was, Kylene could see Ivory Eye wasn't convinced of her own words.

)"(


	2. Wind Fire

**Book 1: Rekindled Flames**

**Wind Fire**

The pile grew and grew as more treasure was offered. Silver dinars from a hundred nations spilled from bags, chests, or just lied in heaps. Mingled amongst this were countless pieces of gold jewelry, decorated with cut gems and diamonds of all shapes and sizes. Then there were statuettes of bronze, jars of rare spices, pelts of exotic beasts, blades crafted from Chiaroscuros's supernaturally strong glass, and even a few pieces of actual Jade poking out here and there.

The yearly tribute of the Three Fires Tribes was set before their liege, the ageless Perfect. He sat upon a cushioned, mahogany throne, lined with cool Blue Jade. He was a man of average height, appearing to be in the prime of his life, olive skinned, with honey blonde hair done up in an extravagant style the rich overlords of the cities preferred. The Perfect adorned himself in robes of spun gold and silver colored silk, encrusted with pearls and precious stones. In his left hand he gripped his golden staff, a gold so pure, it appeared as if smelted from Sunlight; engravings of runes covered its length, in some unknowable language, and decorated with oddly colored diamonds; and the swirling hook-like head held a pearl nearly the size of a man's face.

Beyond the ruler, sharing the cloth covered stage, were two child servants, holding white banners with a golden eye sigil - the eternally open symbols of Paragon, the Perfect's city, reflecting the lord's own immortal eyes. An array of other assistants accompanied the banner holders, along with the most senior of the colorfully garbed magistrates and clergy. A greater number of the Paragonese elite guard also stood watch. These 'Immortals', in their black and gold uniforms, covered by scale mail of White Jade and armed with ornate pikes that could launch a bolt of pure power with a mere thrust, kept a keen eye on the procession before them; each was rigorously trained to awaken their inner spirit, allowing the soldiers to use armaments of such blessed materials and mystic might.

Delivering the bounty before the stage were the nomads themselves. The warriors of the Mejairs, Hahjabs, and Ekhebas took turns bringing forth more of their yearly tithe to the man who bound them to his rule. They marched in the tribute from their desert home to the grid-shaped metropolis. This path to the Perfect led one past the drab simple stone buildings of the poor, reflecting the only shade the underclass were allowed to wear; and onward it went, through the green-black basalt structures of more important buildings and abodes of the city's privileged; and the stone slab streets ended at the wide, central mosaic covered plaza, where the gathering took place.

The current presenters were the Hahjabs, donned predominantly in cloth of browns and reds. Their brother nomads had already delivered their payment for survival. Of this tribe, Wind Fire rode forth with his Uncle, Silent Eye, leading the finely bred horses of the Erwani. The sleek and beautiful animals were captured by the young nomad himself, earning Wind Fire a scar on his left thigh for the deed. He gazed up to his 'lord', a thought that disgusted him.

A century ago, the Three Fires were a free people, a powerful alliance of the desert tribes collectively named the Abisi. Since before the Time of the Mad Suns, when the Anathema held Creation, and going even further back, before the First Age when humanity was birthed, the Abisi were blessed with the cattle herds of Ahlat, the bull god of war, so they would never hunger and thus never grow weak in their enduring odyssey between the oases. The Three Fires' Heavenly favor went even further, enjoying the patronage of one of the Night Eye's Children, which made them even more feared and respected by all Southerners. The daughter of the Moon was said to be of both mare and human blood, but now her stories were forbidden; just as they tried to say the Night Eye swelled to a full Moon by her ravenous greed, instead of the Abisi's tales of her shrinking to a New Moon by shedding her light to guide them. The Three Fires were brought low by the Paragonese, with the aid of the far away Realm, who ruled Creation through puppets like the Perfect. The tribes were harried, defeated, and their divine patron slain. The survivors were faced with two choices - be sold to the Realm's slave pens or bow and forever swear allegiance to the Perfect.

The oath was more than simple words, but a mystic binding. Wind Fire glanced down at his palm, gazing at the scarlet marking of an open eye. All citizens received the mark upon swearing obedience to the autocrat while grasping the Perfect's staff, making one beholden for life. It was said that all one's senses, even their own thoughts, became his. Defiance only lead to a quick death, and Wind Fire had seen the mark's power over that as well. The memory of his dead friend, Sun Blade, was still strong in the young warrior's mind.

The Abisi himself had just reached the end of his adolescence over the Earth Season. He was built like a sinewy lion, carved that way by the harsh Southlands of Creation. Wind Fire was draped in the typical garb of his people - dark pantaloons, with leather boots and a gray tunic, further covered by a burnt brown hooded robe, which fit loosely around him. His thick auburn mane of almost kinky hair was bound in many shoulder-length dread-locks, pulled back by a leather strap and covered by a maroon turban. Long hair, an oddity in the South, especially amongst the Abisi nations, was prized amongst the Hahjabs. On his subtlety heart shaped face, he possessed a thin scar on each of his full cheeks of dusky flesh, marking him as a blooded adult. They were joined by other ritual scarification and tattoos, telling of his family lineage and marks of protection. Around his neck, like all members of the Three Fires wore, was an amulet; it was a small bronze circle, etched with markings of the spirits, associated with his birth.

The nephew and uncle pulled the valued horses toward the front of the stage, where two servants took them. The tribe's Beyik, also at the foot of the structure, went on to introduce the former mounts of the Erwani, listing off their qualities. The Perfect looked like stone, neither appreciative or unimpressed. The ruler's lack of reaction offended Wind Fire. Here he had risked his life and suffered injury to fetch the animals, only to have them tossed to a man who cared not. Standing his ground, he gazed up at the Perfect, locking his large expressive eyes onto the autocrat's ancient orbs. The Beyik noticed, trailing off as he turned to the confrontation. The attention of the magistrates and Immortals was also drawn, but all were too shocked to so much as utter a whisper.

_Let the bastard read my true feelings for him_, Wind Fire thought. He tried to imagine or even feel if the Perfect was truly inside his mind.

Silent Eye put a rough calloused hand on Wind Fire's shoulder. "What are you doing?" The near ebony skinned man said in their language with concern and anger.

The Beyik shot his warrior a baleful glance as his teeth tightened.

Wind Fire broke off the stare-down and left, shrugging off his older relative. Silent Eye went after his nephew, "Fire, what madness has possessed you!"

"To Hell with this!" Wind Fire spat, continuing off into the crowd of his tribesmen. They parted for him, shocked at his display. He ignored them; they were all cowards in his anger blinded eyes.

"Fire!" His uncle demanded. "Where are you going?"

Wind Fire didn't answer, marching off down the main road to leave what he considered a temple to his imprisonment.

)"(


	3. Tonauac

**Tonauac**

The Sun set on the horizon, casting the heavens in hues of oranges, yellows, and reds as the blanket of night gradually shrouded the heavens. Relief was too weak of a word to describe the emotion the inhabitants of Brass felt as another sweltering day of the dying Fire Season ended. The dusty cramped city was soon coming alive as the Brassite 'day' began at evening, especially in the hot times at the finality of the year. The adobe and stone homes emptied to do business, work, and socialize.

In the wealthier districts of the city, Tonauac could clearly see the great central fortress, which gave Brass its name. It was a strange, darkly structure, appearing to be made of a green tinged brass; said to have been built from the metals pulled from the Hells of Malfeas itself, at the behest of the long fallen Shogunate, which dominated Creation as the Scarlet Empire did in the present. Tonauac studied the harsh edges of the ziggurat shaped monument, with spiky protrusions and extravagant surface carvings of the Great Elemental Dragons. The guardians of Creation looked more savage and menacing than in any depiction Tonauac had viewed before, appearing ready to ravage than to safeguard.

He returned his dark eyes to the small courtyard of the minor Dayia's home. It was centered around a three tiered fountain, in a space lined with well cared for plants, growing blooming honey scented flowers. The floor was covered by cool tile, shaded a sky blue except where paths of a darker azure cut through, branching out like a cross from the fountain. On the edges of the path, gold calligraphy was painted - all prayers to the spirits for fortune and blessings to the household. Tonauac could also see from the armed guards, who walked along the wall's battlements, the Dayia relied on more than just the graces of the little gods.

The noble emerged, followed by several servants. Trajos of the Helkem family was a skinny man, almost lanky with long arms and large sandal covered feet. He was close to the color of the surrounding night, with a shaved head and well trimmed, squared goatee. He dressed in tailored silk robes of unblemished white, trimmed by sky blue, and donned a shiny gold chain necklace, which ended in a square cut ruby. The servants, wearing simple cloths, in addition to their owner's brand upon their neck, set up a table and laid a map atop. Another slave, a young woman, held up an oil lamp to shed light on the vicinity.

As this occurred, Trajos smiled. "Greetings, welcome to my home." He went to the four Madjai, shaking each one's hand. When he came to Tonauac, he glanced down to the stub of a pinky finger. "And I presume you're the infamous Tonauac Four-Fingers." He did his best to pronounce the Lapish name.

Tonauac was a massive man, standing at least a head taller than anyone else in the room. His bare arms, adorned in simple leather bracers, rippled with muscle, and colored a deep tan like he rest of his skin. He was also thick necked and strong jawed, with a broad nose. A mop of curly brunette hair, streaked through with a more golden brown, topped his head, and was bound up in a short topknot that was further supported by a faded red headband. He dressed in a simple, midnight blue sleeveless shirt and russet trousers, tucked into his well used traveling boots. Around his waist was also tied a sash of the same material as his headband, and hanging from his neck was a choker of turquoise and silver beads that ended with a small white sea shell. The feature of his hand, the Dayia spoke of, was the missing digit on each appendage. It was a sign of Tonauac's voluntary exile from his home city of Lap, on the distant coast of the Southlands. Their absence gave the Madjai his title.

"Yeah, that's me," Tonauac answered the noble. He wasn't fond of the addition to his name, but it was part of his reputation, which all Madjai sought to nurture.

"I've heard much about your exploits," Trajos went on, looking at them all, "all of you…which of course brings us to the task at hand."

He led the Madjai to the table. Far Foot, an excellent tracker he'd worked with on many a job, was to Tonauac's right. The wiry man, olive in complexion, possessed tied back shaggy white curls; this pigment was not due to age, but a mark of his heritage, being born to the commonly pale haired Tamuzaks, the powerful Abisi confederation of the easterly Far Sands. On the left of Tonauac, were Xerekah and Usah, both native Brassites. The one closer to Tonauac, Xerekah, was a young Madjai hailing from the farms to the north, and fresh from his fostering; his black curls were closely cropped, and his body was fit and healthy from a lifetime in the fields, but he still carried himself like the amateur he clearly was. The last Madjai, Usah, was also a well-built man, just earning it from his years fighting in the Royal Warhost; approaching the end of his fourth decade of life, his thinning hair was shaved to the skin, while his face was marked by a thin mustache that spread into a long goatee, which he currently stroked.

The map below marked the Flame Road region, a frontier dominated by Brass. The route was only surpassed by the Diamond Road to the west in importance to Southern trade, both connecting the edge lands to the rest of Creation. It spread up from an arm of the Wyld-tainted Sun's Sea - an ocean of silt - and onto the blasted Gritland, ascending into the Dust Hills and Scoured Peak Mountains. Within this range, Brass rested on a wide plateau, which guarded the Anjala Valley; this agricultural vale was also sheltered by the northerly Heaven Touched Mountains. The source of life for the region too was well marked on the map, running out of the madness that ate at Creation, the Prism River watered the parched land.

Trajos spread his hands over the map. "Now, as you already know, I've been having problems with stolen merchandise." He pointed to a part of the trade route that cut through the Dust Hills. "A caravan carrying some slaves of mine were taken from me here, and the thieves ran off into the hills. It was those damn inbred Dusters. I want my property back, in addition to those bastards' heads."

Tonauac rubbed his chin. "Why don't you send your sworn swords?"

"I need…" Trajos thought of the words. "Need more craftier agents. You know those filthy hill folk would only scatter to the Scoured Peaks at the first sight of my men."

Situations of the like were exactly what the Madjai were sent in for. They were the trouble-shooters and bounty hunters for Brass, and the closest thing to a 'police force' the city had, aside from the ruling class's sworn clans of warriors, suiting its mercenary like character. Yet, unlike the high born allied warriors, the Madjai were in theory at the disposal of any Brassite, as long as both the transgression violated royal law, and the right amount of Jade could be scrounged up. They were a neutral presence to keep order for the royal family, and serve as a check on the independent minded Dayias, who were prone to feuding and abusing their station.

Usah joined in, "Sounds fine, but do you have anything else to go on?"

"Yes," Trajos continued to explain. "The leader of these bandits is named Gust, a constant troublemaker on the trail towns and mines. I have a guide though, he can take you to the hovel he calls a home."

Tonauac saw a problem, one he'd seen several times before, especially with the folk of the Dust Hills. "I've heard of Gust, the guy's a hero to the Dusters. What's to say he doesn't get tipped off before we even step outta the gates?"

"I knew you would ask that," Trajos answered. "You see, he doesn't know I've located him. He thinks he's safe there. I have my men harassing other villages too, so I'm sure the little wretch is sitting back, believing he has it over me."

The giant Madjai looked to his fellows. Usah shook his head, liking it, while Xerekah appeared eager as any naive kid to spill some blood for coin. Far Foot gazed over the map, before turning to his partners. "Sounds doable," his words were heavily accented by his people's own tongue.

Trajos flashed his brilliant smile again. "Excellent, I'd like you to depart as soon as possible." The Dayia clapped his hands and another servant entered the courtyard, carrying a leather sack that jingled with coin. "Here's your down payment to buy whatever you need."

The bag was set on the table, flopping open to reveal the sum within. Brown copper coins gleamed in the lamp light, marked with the symbol of the Realm's Imperial Treasury on one side and a stylized portrait of the now vanished Empress on the other. A few handfuls of silver dinars, with Brass's fortress heraldry stamped on them, stuck out here and there as well. Tonauac couldn't help but crack a smile. Being paid in the Realm's currency, even with their declining economy, was far more valuable than just local silver.

"We'll head out tomorrow," Tonauac stated to the Dayia, reaching to take hold of the collective bounty.

He was surprised when Usah grasped the pouch first. The large Madjai gave his partner a sharp look. It was Tonauac who was tapped for the job and gathered the talent, by tradition, it was his right.

Usah retracted his hand. "Sorry Tona, I wasn't thinking."

He could tell Usah wasn't sincere. The older Madjai came highly recommended though. Sure, he had something of a cold reputation, but Madjai didn't do nice work. Tonauac doused the fire in his eyes, picking up the heavy sack with the ease brought by his great strength.

"We'll have your property back to you, Dayia," Tonauac promised.

Trajos smiled, hiding any concern over the display he witnessed. "I have every faith in you. Now lets seal our bargain with tea."

)"(


	4. Jalah

**Jalah**

Incense drifted through the hall, teasing the nose with sweet soothing smells; it was thought the aroma cleansed the mind and pleased the spirits of higher thought. This grand chamber was lit by orbs of captured sunlight, which hung from branch like chandeliers, in addition to the oil lamps in every corner. They exposed the beautiful and intricate frescoes painted along the walls, which told of the glory of Chibala and its ruling mystic order, who placated the hunger of the Great Dragons to keep Creation stable. Jalah gazed upon the ornamentations, amused at the Thresholders absurd take on the Immaculate teachings.

The elites themselves were gathered in a great throng, at the ball thrown for Jalah's mistress. These Shotol, as they called themselves, were dressed in silk robes of gossamer like colors, which shinned with inlaid diamonds, sparkling like the stars they honored. Their largely dark hair was pulled up in topknots, from their purposely flattened foreheads. She too caught flashes of the tiny gem slivers they glued to their teeth, joining the already impressive array of jewelry, brooches, and amulets they decorated themselves in. Also mingling about were the high ranking members of Chibala's bureaucracy, running the more tedious aspects of the city-state. They were made up of the Shotol's offspring and their descendants, whose stars and talent didn't dictate a place in the elite order of mystics. They were clothed in plainer silks with less jewelry, but still possessed the bejeweled teeth and skull alterations.

Aside from the band of panpipe players and guitarists, the rest of the Chibalans were slaves. Not really Chibalans per say, as far as Jalah understood the laws of the barbarians, for no citizen of the nation could be held as such. The servants, carrying the looks of other Southern people and even folk from farther reaches of Creation, wore a simple white knee-length tunic that left their arms exposed, and belted by mere cords. They also bore none of the raised bump tattoos that Jalah assumed were symbols of citizenship as well. The solemn lot moved to and fro, passing out drinks, food, or attending whatever needs their owners saw fit.

"Jalah." The voice of her mistress called her.

She broke off her observations immediately to answer the call of Mnemon Kelohay. Her mistress was a tall finally sculpted woman, with pale skin and dark hair like one from across the Inland Sea to the Blessed Isle of the Realm. Her hair fell in three braids - two descending the side of her skull, and the third centered at the rear of her head. Each was wrapped in silver lace. Actual metal silver also hung from her ears, delicate chains lowered to specs of diamonds, along with another chain of the material that graced her neck. As for Kelohay's actual clothing, she dressed in a purple wrap skirt and a tight low cut black top, separated by an unblemished white waist sash, whose tied ends nearly touched the floor. Covering this was a thin silk robe of the same shade as her skirt. The sleeves were decorated with small horizontal slits, ending with pearl shaded dragons of a stylized design, which curled around the cuffs. If anyone looked close enough at her ivory skin, they could see it was touched by soft grays, a telltale sign she carried the blood of the Elemental Dragons in her veins. Kelohay was one of the Exalted, flowing with the essence of the Earth itself. Her kind were the rulers of Creation, the overlords of the Realm and all her tributaries of the Threshold.

"Yes mistress," Jalah said, bowing to the woman who owned her.

The servant herself was also of the folk who hailed from Creation's center - light skinned with black hair, which would have fell just past her shoulder if it wasn't pinned tightly up in a bun. She was a very thin girl, with only a slight curve to her figure; possessing a face marked by high cheekbones and almond eyes of an emerald hue. She dressed identical to the other three personal servants who accompanied Kelohay, in sleek black dresses, under a white silk robe. They also wore a collar of ribbon, which connected to a small polished white stone, engraved with the symbol of her mistress's House. Jalah's apparel might have measured close to the standards of the Chibalan privileged, but she held as much status as the other slaves in the room.

Alongside Kelohay, was the Dragon Blooded's cousin, Tefel, one of the Realm's advisers to Chibala. He bore a similar complexion to his relative, but his gray touch was fainter from lesser breeding. His short hair was spiked up, above his fine chiseled features, spoiled only by an unevenness on the right side of his jaw. Before they departed the Imperial City for the Southlands, Jalah overheard her mistress laugh about his disfigurement with another member of her House. Tefel had apparently mouthed off to a lowborn Dragon Blooded in the Legions as a child, thinking his Dynastic blood made him superior despite the officer's high rank. The Legionnaire shattered the brat's jaw. The now grown adviser was dressed in a white yukata, with a chestnut waist sash. On each pant leg of his outfit, a yellow mountain had been embroidered. At his side was his own personal slave, an elderly man of the light haired Northern folk. He also had his bodyguard present, a Realm born brute of a woman, with a sword held in a finely ornamented sheath.

Kelohay reached up to twirl her necklace, like she always did, revealing the White Jade bracer beneath her sleeve. It was carved to resemble a dragon that coiled around her wrist. "You see that man over there?"

Jalah turned to where her mistress motioned, to see another Shotol arrive. He was a younger member of the order, but carried himself with an arrogant manner, as if he sat on the high council itself. His red streaked topknot made his head look like a pear from their skull shaping. Trailing his dragging, blue hued robes, was a small train of slaves - bare-chested women, which drew disapproval from his fellows.

Returning her attention to her mistress, the Dragon Blooded continued her instructions, "That's who I need to speak to. His name is Capahual. Can you manage to bring him to me?"

Jalah nodded.

"Good, and you remember their title right?"

"Yes mistress," she replied, speaking the term for 'Learned One' in their dialect of Flame Tongue. The servant was made to learn the language in detail upon news of their trip to the region. She'd always been a fast and skilled linguist.

She then went about her task, skillfully and silently maneuvering through the crowd. When she reached her target, Jalah politely bowed and spoke in the Southern language, "Greetings, Learned One. My mistress, Mnemon Kelohay, would like to speak with you."

He shook his head in compliance, but would waste no words on a slave, even one who belonged to the Chosen. Jalah guided the Shotol over to the waiting Dragon Blooded, across the hall. It was at that moment a fellow servant of Kelohay, Opal, appeared from around some laughing bureaucrats. The sight of the woman, with blue hair and golden skin of the fabled Western Isles, made Jalah frown.

"Let me take this, Jalah," she demanded in the commoner tongue of Low Realm, or Earth Tongue; safer to use for such a clandestine order, since it was common for the Thresholder elite to at least learn a smattering of the Exalted's High Realm in their poor attempts to appropriate some of the Isle's superior civilization.

Jalah gave Opal a severe gaze, but bowed before Capahual, and stepped aside. The Shotol showed confusion, which Opal eased in sloppy Flame Tongue, asking him to follow her instead.

As they continued, Jalah sneered at the other slave. It was because of her she had lost the favor of their mistress, who thought Jalah as incompetent. Opal discovered her secret studies of Kelohay's lore, learning the minor arts of mortal magics, known as thaumaturgy to the educated, but more widely called Wu'myo on the Isle. Like the Shotol, she could manipulate Essence in the most minute ways. Unlike the foolish Thresholders, she knew their petty alchemy and divinations were nothing compared to the might of the reality altering sorcery her mistress commanded. The magics were still very useful though, especially with her increasing aptitude over cursing. Jalah pulled the token of clay from her robe, one that had a strand of Opal's hair baked within, marked with symbols of fortune and grace.

Stroking the talisman in her fingers brought a smile to the servant's face. Now she would pay back every time Opal made her fake clumsiness, hand over tasks, and other humiliations for her silence. She took firm hold of the mystic charged ceramic piece and cracked it in half, letting the curse unfold onto its unsuspecting victim. As Opal led Capahual before the Dragon Blooded, the slave tripped. She gasped loudly, stumbling into a Chibalan slave. The man lost his grip on the wine pitcher he carried, sending its contents flying all over the young Shotol. The outraged mystic roared as the rest of the attendees turned to the disturbance. Jalah had to will herself not to laugh.

She hurried over to the scene, arriving just as the band even came to an abrupt halt. Kelohay and Tafel had already descended on Capahual to apologize, while the secret-mystic stepped forward.

Their mistress glared at Opal with fiery confusion. "What are you doing!"

She was stunned, trying to stutter out an explanation.

Kelohay growled, noticing her other servant, "I sent you Jalah. What is Opal doing leading him?"

And on cue, she answered with all her acting skill, "Why mistress, Opal said you changed your mind, and wanted her to guide him."

Opal's face twisted, but was cut off by the Exalt, "I did no such thing." The Dragon Blooded was barely in check of her emotions. "Go now, back to your quarters," was exclaimed with all the coldness of stone.

Opal stood. Disgraced publicly, she could do nothing but look evilly at Jalah, knowing Opal could utter not a word about her knowledge. If she would, the rival servant wouldn't be believed, seen only as desperate for revenge. Confident in her victory, she smirked at her former tormentor, who departed with barely concealed rage.

)"(


	5. Ryana

**Ryana**

The needle was plucked again from the small pot of burning embers, lying in the center of the shadowed chamber. It was dipped in indigo fluid, simmering upon contact, before being applied to Ryana's back. She glanced away, as the pain of the tattooing continued, focusing on the darkness beyond, for the enclosed space was only illuminated by candle light.

On the floor of the underground chamber, sat the elites of the Bishah Blades. They rested on plush pillows, all men, in the loose and expensive silk their stolen wealth afforded them. Most were middle aged or older. Another, not of their rank, joined them. Sahar was the man who was Ryana's teacher and sponsor; he was also something of a father to her, with the absence of her own. He looked pleased, despite the stoic face demanded of the ceremony. He too was a man approaching the end of his younger days, with a graying anchor cut beard and mustache, growing from leathery, tan skin. Sahar's short receding hair was covered by a black and yellow striped turban, and garbed in more simple clothing compared to his elder brothers.

With a few more hand pricks, the artist withdrew and wiped Ryana's new tattoo of a setting sun, resting between her shoulder blades. It joined the other stylized images on her coppery flesh, made up of raised bumps and swirls. They symbolized her deeds and standing - from the flight of butterflies on her rear left shoulder, the circling dragons that bit their tails on each of her upper arms, to the big cats that rose off each side of her exposed breasts.

Ryana remained in her cross-legged position, not allowed to so much as flinch. She was an athletic young woman, possessing a curvy dancer's frame. On her face rose high wide cheeks and rather almond-shaped eyes, the color of hazel. Her long, silky midnight hair was bound up in a braided ponytail; tucking the loose strands behind her ears, which were pierced with small, spiraling hoops of gold. With the tattoo complete, she relaxed her muscles, letting out a low sigh through her wide, round nose.

The Malek of the Bishah then rose, crossing the rug covered floor to her. He was a slender man, with taut, brown skin, and an angular nose. Like many Southern men, he allowed only the hair of his face to grow, taking shape into a well trimmed gray growth, coming off his chin. A row of tiny golden hoops traveled down his ears, along with a rope necklace of the same precious metal, which ended in a round obol of Red Jade - etched with the Blade's setting sun heraldry. He let his silk robe drop, and the sleeveless tunic beneath left his arms of skin art bare. The Malek stood above her, adjusting his leather belt, holding several large knives.

"Rise," he ordered in a raspy voice.

Ryana did as she was commanded, coming to the Malek's nose.

"You are now marked by Kemu," he continued, "our forgotten patron, who will see the shasu's reign end like the setting sun. Through our hands, our faith, and blood, we will make this pass and have our revenge." He locked his steel gray eyes onto hers, "Do you know what is demanded of a true Blade of Bishah?"

Ryana swallowed, and began her carefully memorized oath, "I forsake all before the Bishah, and make them my blood and brothers. I shall always hold their trust and be silent, and take the whip in one's place if needed. I will amend any split in the blood through convocation, always abide and support its decisions; for we shall have justice where the shasu have none. I stand above their vices and will honor my debts and not lose reason with alcohol. Above all, I renounce all ways of the shasu. Never bowing to them, always defiant. May my soul fall to Malfeas for any betrayal."

The Malek closed his eyes in satisfaction. "Now burn your oath with flame upon your tongue." He reached to the knife that was also plunged into the pot of embers, heated to a glowing red. "Lick this blade and show truth to your words."

Ryana gazed at the searing weapon and clenched her fists as she leaned forward, and quickly dragged her tongue across the instrument before second thoughts had a chance to deter her. The pain truly burned into her, closing her eyes tightly to bare it, going stiff as she swallowed her misery; she even tried desperately to soothe her tongue in her mouth's own spittle. Ryana could not show any weakness in the ritual, failure meant her throat would be slit by the very same weapon she just licked.

Then a cry rose from the rest of the Bishah, "To Kemu's glory! We offer you this new blade to your vengeance." With that statement, Ryana breathed easy. She had passed and was now a true Blade.

"Congratulations Ryana." The Malek cracked a smile.

She bowed her head, pleased that she'd finally been able to join the true ranks of Chiaroscuro's most powerful criminal organization. The Bishah claimed descent from one of the petty gangs that ruled the City of Glass, in the time before the Abisi horde of the Delzhan had conquered it. They talked of always fighting the invading 'shasu' - a common Southern pejorative for foreigners, akin to calling one a defiler - to overthrow them for the now defunct city-god, Kemu, who was chased to the deepest parts of the ruined Old City. Ryana knew it was mostly rhetoric; the Blades had long become an institution of Chiaroscuro's underworld. With all the pomp and circumstance over, she could practice her craft without paying tithe to the Bishah, along with getting an even cut out of any collaborative work. The thief also wouldn't be their fodder either.

With a clap of the Malek's hands, servants entered with goblets and flasks of wine. The scantly clad women who served were little better than prostitutes. Ryana gazed at them with sympathy and contempt, refusing long ago to ever be put in such a servile and disgraceful position, a fate most women of the South were thrust into. Her ascension into the Blades would assure she never would. Though not the first woman to join their ranks, Ryana was the only one in living memory to attain such.

As they handed out refreshments, she quickly went about dressing herself. She pulled on her tight camisole and a maroon colored medium sleeved shirt, with a somewhat low V-neck - fitting well to her to her frame. Both her top and dim blue pantaloons had minor needlework, rounding the cuffs and collar of her clothing. Over this, the thief tied a light blue waist-sash and donned a pitch cowled tunic that opened in the front; then bound the lower tips of the garment together, pulling it tighter around her. Topping it off, Ryana clasping on her clay-bead necklace, which ended with a circlet of silver, connected to a reclined crescent of turquoise that was marked by the star of her birth.

Once finished, she joined her mentor, who sat near the Malek with a waiting seat. Sahar smiled, "That wine will cool your tongue."

"Yeah", she said with doubt, muffled with pain.

A servant handed each of them a goblet, while the next pored dark wine into them. Ryana gazed at the fluid with reluctance, before finally drinking. It took every once of her will to keep from spitting it up. Sahar let out a quick chuckle at her wide eyes.

The Malek was also amused. "Hah, you truly have strength girl." Then he pulled up a scroll case from behind his perch. "That's why I know this will pose no problem, so soon."

Ryana took the case, opening it, unveiling several papyrus scrolls. As she glanced them over, the outlines of a mansion became clear, belonging to one of the wealthy merchant lords of the Creation-spanning Guild. It also possessed detailed notes on guard patrols, entrances, and the location of something called the 'prize'.

"So what's this prize?" She asked with her sore tongue.

"A potent dreamstone, a large one too." The lord of the Bishah described, naming the mystical gems pulled from the deepest sands of the South, able to reflect one's dreams. "The size of two fists, or so I've heard. What's most amazing about it, I'm told, is it can take memories and store them, hiding secrets that wouldn't be safe even in your own mind."

"Sounds like a story from the First Age," Ryana unintentionally mocked. Sahar nudged her.

The Malek went on, with only a hint of annoyance in his voice, "Well, whether it's true or not, it's very valuable and quite the prize we cannot pass. So take these notes and study, because this must be done tomorrow night, before it's moved again."

"Tomorrow!" Ryana was taken back, ignoring her pain. She even viewed Sahar balk. "We need more time to…"

"There is no time," the Malek interrupted. "Everything you'll need is in those notes. A servant prepared those and he will aid you in getting in. Afterward, I want him dead. The Guild cannot even suspect it was the Bishah, understand?"

Ryana and Sahar shook their heads in compliance.

Pleased, the Malek raised his goblet, "Good, now let's continue celebrating your initiation."

)"(


	6. Dawn

**Dawn**

Wind Fire's namesake blew in from the sea, descending on the camp of the Hahjabs. It was located near the twin rivers, which were shaped to surround the coastal city. At the edge of the encampment, his simple, crème colored tent was perched. The Abisi's dwelling was open to the fading evening, gazing onto the lands afar from Paragon, where he witnessed the settled people's fields. He hoped for a quick return to the scrublands and sand further away, to his home. As the northwestern wind made his small fire dance, he joined his younger brother, Storm, in a silent prayer of thanks to the spirits for the blessed soothing breeze.

His brother was just entering puberty, still short, but growing more and more into the body of a man. The short maroon robe he had over his tunic and pantaloons symbolized his stage in life, being far to big for him. His own auburn hair was also dread-locked and loosely tied back into a tail, blowing about in the gust. He was currently occupied with keeping the chicken, they bought earlier, roasting evenly over the spit.

"Is it done yet?" Wind Fire asked his youngest sibling. "It actually smells good. You're getting better…unlike the last time."

"It wasn't that burnt," Storm defended himself.

Wind Fire glanced up from fetching his new arrows, "I've tasted ashes with more flavor, Storm."

His little brother dismissed him with a groan.

"Hey," a visitor announced. The brothers turned to see their oldest sibling, Topaz.

The sister approached, possessing the same features as her brothers. She was somewhat lanky, with her curls bound tightly into thin, bead covered locks, which clicked and clacked in the breeze. Her dusty brown dress was a single piece, trimmed in white and red embroidery. She was also adorned with several beaded necklaces, including the mandatory birth talisman. More jewelry pierced her ears, a trio of large hoop earrings a piece, which went with the row of small tattooed marks, three again on each side, placed beneath her eyes; both these ornamentations signified the six virtues of a married woman. As Topaz walked, she struggled to keep on her maroon shawl, marked with white and yellow stripes on each end, while simultaneously grasping onto a small, steaming brass pot.

When Topaz reached the foot of the tent, she glanced at her youngest brother, "Storm, you know Uncle is looking for you. If he caught you around this fool, he'd break his bow over your back."

Wind Fire rolled his eyes as he finished another arrow.

Storm protested, "I won't be ashamed of my own brother, no matter how stupid he acts."

Wind Fire looked up at his family, "You both realize I'm right here."

Topaz faced him, ignoring his remark, "Would you like some coffee, it's fresh?"

Wind Fire's nose caught the alluring aroma of the black liquid. "Yes, please, I'm fresh out."

Topaz nodded, and set the pot near the fire, before entering his small tent. She rummaged about, shifting through his clothes and pillows, finally coming to the small chest he kept near the pole. "Look at this mess. You need a wife. A man wasn't meant to live in his own tent."

The male Abisi groaned, going back to his task.

Topaz emerged with several porcelain cups with running horses painted on them. They were some of the few possessions he inherited from his dead parents. Their father purchased the beautiful containers as a gift for their mother, who would die soon after, giving birth to Storm. Their male parent would join her barely a year later, falling in a raid on a caravan of the Perfect's trading rival, Brass. That's all the Three Fires were to the tyrant, a proxy force in his wars of dominance over Far Southern trade. His fear of the man cultivated into hatred as he grew older, understanding how his father didn't die to provide sustenance or to protect his people, but to make the Perfect's pockets fatter.

Topaz pored a cup for each. As Wind Fire took his, he asked her, "So why are you up so early?"

"I could ask the same of you?" She responded, and motioned her head off into the gradually bluing horizon. "I was up helping Simhata get ready for the hunt. The Beyik asked him to come along, with the other leaders of the tribes, to go look for game in the veldt to the east of here."

"Your husband, hah," Wind Fire mocked. "Storm hunts better than him."

"I know", Topaz continued, "and you'd be on those hunts if you'd keep your mouth shut. I don't know what's wrong with you brother, especially with yesterday. Are you trying to end up like Sun Blade?"

Wind Fire heard enough. "Would you stop lecturing me! Am I suppose to be a coward to that bastard? I was raised to bow to no man, unless he earned it. And you want me to kneel for the one who sends our father to his death, or murders men who simply want to have enough to heal their sick mother!"

Topaz roared back, "He held back the Perfect's tithe. Look, his mother died anyways, and a fine son died with her!"

"Would Sun Blade have been a fine son if he hadn't of hid those dinars? Would he have!"

"Silence Fire, you're going to get yourself killed too. He knows your thoughts, all of ours!" Topaz argued, full of rage and concern. "Do you know I nearly died when I heard what you did? I thought I'd come and find your body, twisted like his in your lonely tent. What has this stubbornness brought you? You get chased from our uncle's tent and no family will offer you a daughter. Look at yourself, are you happy being all alone like this? Are you!"

Topaz was silent after her speech, rubbing her stress strewn face. Storm even looked at his brother with worried eyes. Wind Fire couldn't help but feel shame. _Maybe I am letting my pride get in the way…_but he couldn't forget Sun Blade's body, laying crumpled in what appeared to be unbearable agony. His eye mark closed, along with his life. He couldn't overlook the uncaring man on a throne, propped up by his people's blood.

Before anymore could be said, they were disturbed by the approaching clanks of metal and a horse snort. The siblings went out to see a small contingent of common Paragonese soldiers, in their gray buff jackets, leading a mounted magistrate. They all recognized the chubby, balding noble as Cisnero, the man put in charge of affairs dealing with the Three Fires tribes. Wind Fire stood at their approach with defiance, knowing they'd finally come for him. His sister and brother gave him a weary expression.

The Paragonese came to a halt, just before them. Cisnero gazed down at Topaz with eager eyes. "That's her," he said to the soldiers.

To the siblings' surprise, the armsmen took hold of her and began to bind her wrists. "What have I done?" Topaz yelled.

Wind Fire and Storm rushed to stop them. The older brother launched a fist into one soldier's face, aiming just below his nose-guard to crack the man's teeth. Storm tried to shove aside another, but was quickly defeated as the guardsman smashed the blunt end of a spear into the young Abisi's stomach, followed by another strike across his jaw. Wind Fire darted at his brother's attacker, struggling to rip the spear from the Paragonese's hands. But something hard collided into the back of his skull, dropping the warrior to his knees. Struggling to stand, he peered around to see a third soldier holding a club above him, which he used again to knock Wind Fire flat to the dirt. The one the Hahjab originally punched, started the stomping, followed by the other two armsmen, who included Storm in their beating. Topaz screamed for them to stop, but was pulled along by the other pair of soldiers. All the while, Cisnereo laughed.

More of the tribe emerged from their tents to witness the assault, only to stall at the sight of the abuse. Cisnero stared at them, then to the brothers, who were left curling in bloody pain on the earth. "By the word of the Perfect, I've been granted this woman." He spoke directly to Wind Fire, "For your trespass against our eternal lord, your sister will suffer. Consider yourself warned and lucky to live, you shasu cur."

His uncle and aunt emerged from the gathering crowd, looking horrified as Topaz was lead away. Their aunt rushed to Cisnero, grabbing his sandaled foot, begging for him to reconsider. She was answered with a kick to the face. "Away from me, bitch!"

Silent Eye was ready to pounce, but was met with spear points. He relaxed, looking utterly defeated, only helping his wife to her feet.

Wind Fire recovered enough of his strength to stand, and could not abide. Ignoring his gashes and bruises, he moved with outrage to his pile of arrows, snapping several up, along with his bow. His uncle saw this and screamed for his nephew to stop. As the Paragonese turned, the sky lit up with the color of dawn and Wind Fire let his projectile fly. However, another followed that, and another. Before he could bat an eye, his hand was empty, and most of the violators lied wounded or dead. Cisnero was even caught in the barrage, laying still with an arrow sticking out of his bloody eye socket.

The young Hahjab paused after his attack, noticing none of the bystanders could take their eyes off him. Even the one remaining soldier paid no heed to his fallen comrades. Glancing down to his hands, Wind Fire realized it was not only the new day that illuminated the camp, but himself. The same golden light, mixing with hues of the reborn Sun, radiated off his entire body. The brilliant aura formed into a fiery haired titan, wrapped in simmering armor and broken chains, roaring with the rage that had just consumed him. The Abisi felt something break, a link to his very being snapped like a rope pulled too taut. At the other end, he could feel confusion and anger before it completely drifted from his mind, joining the scarlet eye of his enslavement, which faded like evaporating water from his palm.

The throng of bystanders grew as the rest of the camp emptied their tents to see what was occurring. The newcomers either joined the rest of the awestruck spectators, or fled in uncontrollable terror. Silent Eye, holding his wife, was amazed as everyone else, along with Topaz and Storm. Wind Fire was just as baffled. The last Paragonese soldier, pale with fright, muttered. "Oh by the Perfect, an Anathema!" He broke off too, dropping his spear.

His next decision was made by the sounds of more soldiers coming, spotting several riders heading toward them. "We need to go," he yelled to his sister.

Topaz nodded, fighting to regain her wits. Concern seemed to make her forget her brother glowed like the Sun.

Storm was already ahead of them, pulling along Wind Fire's horse and scimitar. "I'm coming too."

"No!" Wind Fire protested.

Storm mounted the animal, "No time, I'm coming. I don't care what happened to you, you're still my blood."

The older Hahjab cursed, pushing Topaz forward to get on the horse too.

At that instant, two soldiers rode forth, leveling their lances at the shining one. Wind Fire roared at them, which his aura mimicked, causing the Paragonese to panic as their horses bucked and fled. With them gone, the now Anathema or whatever he'd become, jumped onto the dead magistrate's mount and turned to flee.

Before galloping off, he stopped by his uncle and aunt, "I'm sorry."

"Just go, nephew," Silent Eye replied, barely swallowing his fear. "Go!"

Finally obeying him, Wind Fire prodded the animal into a full run. He caught up with his siblings, who were already clear of the camp and into farm fields beyond.

)"(


	7. Zenith

**Zenith**

The Sun beat down hard on the rocky landscape, with all the power of the last day of the season. Here and there, small fields of brown scrub and cacti dotted the rolling landscape of the Dust Hills. Hidden between two of these rises, a tiny hamlet rose. A collection of simple, clay brick shacks, with thatch roofs, all centered around a well, and in turn surrounded by a flimsy wall of stacked stone; but this community relied more on its isolation and enough pitfalls, snares, and other traps to slow more obvious invaders, which the troupe of Madjai had waded through. The four laid flat against a hill, in the shadow of a wind sculpted boulder, coming to the hovel by noon, after a several day hike from Brass. Their horses were tied farther away, in the bleakest cranny they could find. Concealed there, they hoped none of the roving herders would chance across them.

The observing Madjai were all decked out for combat. Tonauac was wrapped in his olive-green shaded buff jacket, with his hands coated in steel fighting gauntlets; and strapped across his back was his long and massive falchion, while at his hips were his most prized possessions - the bronze adorned flame pieces he affectionately called the 'twins'. Usah also wore a buff jacket, plus a pot helm, with a neck guard of chain covering his bald head; he too carried a flame piece, in addition to the straight sword sheathed at his waist. Far Foot preferred a flexible chain shirt; while Xerakah could only afford a simple, undecorated breast plate, joined by a round shield slung on his back. The Tamazuk armed himself with the bow and saber of his people; the youngest Madjai wielded a hand axe and a thick headed club.

Their guide was a typical Duster. He was a skinny, undernourished young man, but hardened by a life in the hills. He wore a simple thin tunic and patched over trousers, with sandals guarding his feet and their conical straw hats doing the same for his head. He pointed at the village, whispering to the Madjai in their almost whistle-sounding dialect of Flame Tongue, "There's Gust, that one."

Tonauac studied the scene, seeing several people, including some children prancing about. "Which one?"

"The one without a hat," the guide answered.

He spotted their quarry. The Duster bandit was a dusky man, approaching his middle years, possessing a thick, golden brown beard and mustache. The rest of his kinky hair was sheared close to his scalp like most folk of inner South. Gust laughed as a little boy ran to his arms. A woman followed, which Tonauac presumed was his wife, emerging from one of the homes to kiss Gust on the cheek. A bite of guilt stung the giant Madjai's conscious. _These people just wanna be left in peace, but those bastards in Brass just won't let 'em._

He pushed such thoughts aside and spoke to his comrades, "Okay, let's get ready, we all know the plan."

Xerekah looked up at the high Sun, "Tona, are you sure we shouldn't wait till night?"

"Tomorrow Calibration starts, do you really want to risk it?" He answered his more inexperienced colleague.

Xerekah said nothing. Everyone knew to plan anything other than revelry, and even that at times, was doomed to come undone on the last Moonless nights of the year, when the fate-telling constellations were scattered. Calibration marked the time when all Creation's laws were loose - whether it was from myths of the Dragons needing to pause, so they could suck up more breath from their respective Elemental Pole and blow it back out to start the new year, or even just a vacation for the gods to relax from their celestial responsibilities - but whatever the cause, the delay of trekking through the traps had brought them too close to those cursed days already. He just hoped knowing their location would allow them to outrun them on the return trip.

"Good, let's hit it," Tonauac commanded.

He, Xerekah, and Usah started their descent of the hill. Far Foot remained, notching an arrow to cover them. As one woman turned to the oncoming attackers, the white haired archer let his shaft fly, striking her in the shoulder. Her scream warned the rest of the inhabitants, but the former Abisi shot off arrow after arrow. He brought another man down and grazed Gust's shoulder. The result was panic settling over the hamlet, leaving the Dusters fleeing for shelter.

While this transpired, the trio reached the wall. Tonauac immediately removed a gourd that ended with a wick, along with a flint stone from his armor's pockets. Setting the exploisove fire dust filled object along the barrier, he struck its fuse until it lit. The Madjai quickly retreated, taking cover as the gourd exploded, collapsing a gaping hole in the Duster's defense.

When the smoke and grit dissipated, the Madjai stood, each drawing their weapons. "Ahlat, grant us victory for this bloodshed!" Tonauac made his battlecry to gain the favor of the Southern war god, sounding the anticipation that pumped through his veins for the coming battle.

They rushed into the village, met at first by no one. Though as the three came close to the well, a man charged, hands gripped around a spear. Tonauac raised one of his twins, the one called 'Ruby', and pulled the trigger. The muzzle discharged a gout of flame that consumed the Duster, sending him wildly flailing about as his flesh was devoured.

With that, the rest of the village's defenders erupted forth. The Madjai fell back a few steps from the half dozen men and women who carried crude, stolen, or improvised weapons. Far Foot managed to drop two with his onslaught of arrows, including Gust. Meanwhile Usah and Tonauac engulfed another Duster each with sparked fire dust. The last three were now the ones in retreat.

The Madjai advanced with their blades ready. Two survivors halted to help Gust, who nursed a shaft in his gut.

"Okay, put…" Tonauac was about to force a surrender on the pair, but was interrupted when Usah rushed forth, bringing his sword through the neck of the male defender. Swinging back around to hack down on the female one, the big Madjai intercepted the strike with his own sword, "What the hell are you doing!"

Usah glared, "Finishing this, you oaf!"

"Look at her neck, she's Trajos's property," the giant had noticed her brand. "And they would have surrendered too, you idiot!"

The two Madjai scowled at each other, but were cut short when Far Foot and their guide entered the scene. Usah withdrew his weapon as the new arrivals looked on with curiosity. Even with him backing off, Tonauac had to fight the urge to deck the ex-soldier, using the risk of having his throat slit while he slept to stay him.

Gust then spat up, "Curse on you hyenas, that's all you are."

Xerekah kicked the bandit leader hard in his side, "Shut up!"

Tonauac forced the woman to the ground, "Search house to house for the others." Next he motioned for the guide, "Keep an eye out for the herders, I'm sure they're on their way now."

The hired enforcers went about their task, invading each home and dragging out the adults and children who were marked with Trajos's brand, then dumped on the ground for Xerekah to bind and gag. All but one of the eight was recovered, who lied dead from the earlier battle - the body of Gust's wife still burned from Tonauac's flame piece. The giant tried to shove down his returning conscious by thinking of the coin they'd lose from covering her lost. Despite this mental game, his guilt taunted him over and over. Slavery rather disgusted Tonauac. He understood its use for punishing crimes, and to an extant debts, but seeing rather powerless people dragged off turned his stomach.

Gust himself, gave the giant a wrathful eye, until the boy he held before was tied up. "No!", he struggled out, attempting to stand before Usah collided his boot into the Duster's jaw.

The man rolled over in pain, spitting up teeth. The ex-soldier circled the Duster, bringing his sword to his throat, "Should I complete our other task, or is that too much Tona?"

"Go to Hell," Tonauac sneered back, reloading the other 'twin', Flare.

"Just do it", Gust exclaimed, "kill me and take our children to be sold to your pimps."

An old woman ran out, whose daughter tried to stop her, "Please, if you have any mercy, they were going to be sold to brothels, even the children. I know even in that pit of a city, children aren't sold as such. Please!"

The elder spoke the truth about child slavery. One could get away with much in Brass, as long as the trade wasn't disrupted and proper due was given to the authorities. However, the selling of children to be sex-chattel was something even the Dayias agreed was too far. It was death to peddle in such a vile trade, even if they were meant for other cities. Of course, the right amount of Jade, in the right hands, could always direct the law's eyes elsewhere.

Usah groaned, and with a quick turn, buried his sword in the old woman's gut. Everyone gasped at the cruelty, the woman's daughter wailed in sorrow. This was finally too much for Tonauac, who slammed his metal coated fist into Usah's helmeted head. The ex-soldier collapsed from the force of the blow.

The giant brought his own sword to the fallen Madjai's throat, "Why did you do that, you heartless bastard!"

Usah growled, "She's lying! And I'm heartless, well you have no stomach you four fingered shasu! Probably why you were kicked out of your home city."

Tonauac retorted with his boot, slamming it right into Usah's jaw, just like he'd done earlier to Gust. "I left of my own accord, you piece of shit."

Far Foot hurried between the pair, "Tona, calm down, what's done is done. Let's leave before the herders come. We have what we came for."

Tonauac looked to his partner. He wasn't sure what to believe, the old one could have been lying, but his gut was ringing bells. More so, he'd finally had enough of ripping families apart to fill the Dayias' purses; whether it was true or not, it was all the excuse his conscious needed. "No…I knew there was something about this job that stunk."

The other Madjai balked, except for Usah, who laughed, "You're weak."

Gust spoke again, "It's true, he took them out of retaliation, that pig Trajos…" He was pale from the blood loss, "That's why we had to hide up here…"

Far Foot kicked the Duster again, but Tonauac shoved the Tamuzak back. "Leave him!"

The Abisi snarled, "Do you realize what will happen if we don't, do you Tona! If Trajos doesn't hire someone else to knock us off, our reputations will be ruined. No, we take these slaves back, along with this Duster's head."

Far Foot went for his saber, pausing as Tonauac raised a flame piece. Xerekah appeared confused, while Usah rose with his own weapon ready.

"Xerekah," Usah began, "think on this. You're young, do you want this to ruin your…"

Tonauac interrupted, "Shut up!" Then switched to the farm boy, "Xerekah, this isn't right and you know it!"

The young Madjai glanced to the sky, beating down with all its fury. Returning his eyes to Tonauac, he raised his axe, "Sorry Tona."

Gust then grabbed onto Far Foot's knee, distracting him. Tonauac took advantage, sweeping a kick into Far Foot's other leg joint, simultaneously twirling around to blast Xerekah. The young enforcer, now a bonfire, charged at his killer, forcing Tonauac to fend him off with his gauntlets. Just as he threw the dying youth off him, the giant felt a slicing pain in his knee, collapsing him as well. He glanced to Usah, who pulled the tip of his sword from the giant's leg.

"In some ways, I'm glad of this," the former soldier taunted, "more Jade for me and the prize of besting you, Four-Fingers. I'll get a hundred jobs for this."

Far Foot also recovered, "You're a fool Tona."

Tonauac glanced to the heavens as Usah brought up his blade, feeling more outrage than fear that a pile of Yeddim shit like him was going to end his life. At least he could say he'd done the right thing, hoping that counted when he went off to his next life. However, he felt something strange. The Sun no longer sapped him, but seemed to renew his strength. The brilliant rays burning away his injuries. The sword descended, and without thinking, he caught the weapon with his steel coated hands and rose. The other Madjai shrank in fear before the newly arisen man. Even the bound Dusters huddled together at his sight. Tonauac looked to himself, discovering he glowed like the heavenly light, a mighty beacon of golden flame swirling around him, forming into a phoenix that fully spread its glorious wings.

Usah muttered out the name of Brass's city-god.

Far Foot was speechless.

Tonauac didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and pulled Usah forward by his captured blade, right into a punch with every once of strength he could muster. The former soldier's neck snapped as his chin collided with the gauntlet. And in the flash of a breath, the giant followed by spinning on his heel, rearing up the back of his boot at the stunned Tamuzak. The white haired man went down like a sack of bricks, and he finished him off by bringing the opposite foot down on his skull. A satisfying crunch ended his life as well.

Done with his former partners, Tonauac looked around, letting the bizarreness of the situation finally envelope him. _What's going on? Why am I glowing…_It then dawned on him what he had become.

)"(


	8. Twilight

**Twilight**

From her ear pressed against the wood door, Jalah heard her mistress laugh, "I have to admit, I was furious, but it masked my laughter well. I was glad to see that pompous pig get spilled on."

"As were a good many of the Shotol. Capahual is not looked highly upon. But he has the power to do as he pleases, as you saw at his entrance," Tefel joined Kelohay in amusement.

Kelohay replied, "Indeed, these Southerners are backwards, and the women so pathetic to let themselves be paraded around by a fop like him."

"Well I'd keep those thoughts to yourself," Tefel cautioned. "We'll need his extra maize to secure the region."

Kelohay sounded annoyed, "You don't think I know that, Tefel. I swear, that blow you took as a child robbed you of more than your looks."

"I just learned to be more cautious, cousin. A lesson we all need to win the throne," he said politely, though was obviously offended. "He works with us more out of his own advantage than out of fear anymore."

Jalah thought on the Dragon Blooded's words. Ever since the Empress vanished five years ago, Creation had not been the same. The Realm once held nearly all the world in its grasp, with its eternal monarch on the Scarlet Throne. With her darkly absence though, rumors flew of the tributaries breaking their tithes, some even outright rebelling. Graver stories told of the dead piercing the shroud of the Underworld to feed their hunger on the living lands; along with the insane Fair Folk, the Raksha raiding deeper into Creation from the chaos of the Wyld. Before her departure from the Blessed Isle, she even heard whispers from an Immaculate monk, saying the Anathema walked openly again - the shinning demons who glowed like false Suns. They were cast down by the Children of the Elemental Dragons at the end of the First Age, saving Creation from their deprivations. If any of these were true, you couldn't tell by the actions of the Dynastic Houses of the Exalted. The Dragon Blooded schemed and plotted against each other, jockeying for the empty throne. Even in Chibala, her mistress's House worked to cast down the Satrap of House V'Neef, who Tefel advised for. Another power game to get a little more edge in the coming civil war.

Syla then whispered a warning to her fellow slave, "Jalah, Kelohay we'll have you whipped like Opal, if she caught you eves dropping." She was a tall, stretched woman, with pale tan skin and dark hair touched by green. She told Jalah her kin were savages, captured from the Great Forest that grew at the Eastern end of Creation. "Your curiosity's going to catch up with you someday."  
_It already has_, Jalah mumbled in her thoughts. "I'm sorry if I like to know what's going on, Syla."

"Well don't say I didn't warn…" she halted her rebuttal when Jalah hurried from the door.

Both servants rushed back to their duties with their mistress entering. She was wearing a plain black sleeveless gown, joined by a chain belt made up of silver links, where a short sword hung from, while crossing her chest was the strap of her fine black leather satchel. Kelohay's hair was thrust up in a pinned bun, and from her neck hung the jewel she always donned when performing her sorceress craft. It was a multi-hued gem the size of an eye, rough cut and covered in the etched script of a language Jalah had never viewed elsewhere. Kelohay fingered with its thin steel chain, turning back to Tefel, "Let me do what I came for, before Calibration is fully upon us."

"Then let the Dragons give you their five-fold blessing, cousin." Tefel bowed and departed.

Kelohay returned her eyes to the chamber. It was a rather large room, but far from the most spacious of areas that Tefel's keep offered. Being beneath the earth gave it a cool dampness, which was a much needed respite from the last burning day of the Fire Season. This was somewhat spoiled by the heat of the wall torches, sadly. Jalah and Syla, adorned in camisoles and loose pants, had worked much of the day for the sorcery their mistress intended to cast. Starting at a central position on the floor, arched out lines of calligraphy, which traveled up the walls and ceiling. All were painstakingly painted to perfection in each of Creation's directions. They met again at the roof of the room, where a symbol of the central pillar of Earth bore down on the empty spot from which the calligraphy originally branched. In between each of the lines, painted on the walls, were power sigils. The four marks were large and flowing, formed from the script of the long fallen Old Realm of the First Age. All along the floor's edge was a perimeter of candles - black and red wax, melted together with more Old Realm characters carved into them.

Kelohay inspected everything, watching Jalah finish the last power sigil and Syla lay out more candles. "Good Jalah, your marking is excellent. I see you're finally proving again to be the gifted girl I bought."

Jalah bowed, "Thank you mistress."

"Too bad Heaven decided to not give your soul to citizen or a patrician," naming the Realm's middle class of urban craftsman, and the noble families who were the mortal descendents of the Dragon Blooded. "You would have been skilled a thaumaturge."

Jalah bowed again, _If you only knew_. What Kelohay spoke of was what she often dreamnt, to be of those free classes, and able to use her Wu'myo openly, possessing the freedom and power that came with such talents. As a slave, even for all her learning and skill, she was no different than an ignorant field worker laboring under a task master's whip, completely at the world's mercy. Still, she was at least thankful to work with her mistress again, with Opal's disgrace. It gave her a taste of the might and importance she wished she possessed.

The Dragon Blooded's expression went sour at Syla's work. "Syla look at this," she knelt down to the candle she just set. "You need to pay attention, the markings are facing the wrong way. Everything needs to be right. This isn't a parlor trick you idiot, and it goes doubly so on Calibration's eve."

The shamed Syla also leaned low, "I'm so sorry, mistress."

"Remember your task next time or I'll make better use of you as a gift to a little god," Kelohay threatened with a somewhat jesting tone.

Syla remained stoically bowed, but Jalah noticed a shudder of fear. They once had an older sister, who initially trained them all, until age began to claim her memory. Kelohay fed her to a spirit she needed a favor from, with only a brief sense of grief. _"I'll miss the old woman, a good loyal servant. I'll pray for her ascendance in her next incarnation,"_ was all she said with the matter done.

Jalah returned from the flashback as Kelohay instructed the pair to begin, "The Sun is getting low in the sky." She removed a thick heavy tome from her satchel. In its pages were the secrets of true sorcery, which not even her servants were allowed to read. Jalah had longed to explore its contents, hoping that it might be a myth that only the Dragon's Children could harness its mysteries.

Kelohay stepped toward the central space, flipping through the pages of her tome. "Jalah, bring me the paint."

She did as she was ordered, while Syla finished lining the room with candles, completing the encirclement at the door. Done with their tasks, the servants stood back in silence, awaiting new instructions.

Their mistress stopped at a page, going over its drawings and words. When finished, she shut the book and leaned on one knee. Kelohay dabbed the brush in the crimson paint and began to cover the gap with an intricate circle, filled with interwoven lettering and drawings. At its completion, the Dragon Blooded stood, calling out to the Heaven in the tongue of the previous age. The raw Essence of Creation tingled as it began to gather, causing a white glow to ever so faintly illuminate the sorceress.

She returned her book to her satchel and called on Jalah, "Take this and help Syla light the candles."

The servants did as they were told, while Kelohay continued the ritual. Calling on the energy necessary for the spell, her anima sprang to life - a white marble luminance that rose off the Chosen. Her jeweled necklace also filled with a jubilation of the myriad of colors it was composed of. Time's passage pored into Sun movements as Kelohay ran off the courtesies to the Directions and the Celestial Courts of the little gods, to bid her request for a summoning. When she bypassed that step, her anima flared more into iconic shapes of mountains, uncoiling into a serpentine dragon, which melted back into raw light. The painted markings also shined brightly as the ritual reached its conclusion.

Her last chant ended with the candles and torches' flames erupting into many streams, poring into the central circle. The collecting inferno swirled like liquid trapped in an invisible globe, until it took form into a canine with fur of fire, ember eyes, and obsidian fangs.

The elemental being barked out words, "Why do you summon me?"

Kelohay spoke, "To call on you, Sumoca, to do your purpose, burn the fields of Chibala. Feed on their ashes and drink their smoke."

The beast-spirit growled, "And why should I do this, Blood of the Earth?"

The a battle of wills began, to keep the elemental bound to Kelohay. The markings flared more, almost to a blinding level. Jalah and Syla averted their eyes, while heat off the beast wafted forth, testing the seals, leaving the slaves and master blanketed in perspiration. It was for naught, as the hound of fire snarled and yielded; the heat and illumination lessened with its submission.

Kelohay smiled. "So Hound of the Burning Fields, will you serve in this task, lead your pack forth to feast off the maize and squash of the Chibalans? Make them believe the gods have cursed them this Calibration?"

"Your wish will be done, Dragon's Child," the beast barked, and the hound became a sphere of flame again, smothering itself. Foot prints of soot were its only leavings.

Kelohay sighed deeply, her anima lessening to a soft aura. She headed toward the door, removing her necklace, "Jalah, take my necklace and book to my storage." Her attention went to Syla, "Accompany me to my room. I need a bath to clean off this sweat."

"Yes, mistress," the servants bowed, replying in unison.

"Then send for Chasma and Opal to clean up," giving her final order to Jalah, she left with Syla.

She was just behind them, watching Kelohay and Syla turn a corner to the steps, but paused in completely shutting the door of the chamber, still softly glowing from the summoned energies. Once her mistress was out of sight, the temptation seized her. _Just a peak_, and with that said, Jalah gave in, cracking open the book and skimming through the knowledge it contained.

It spoke of the structure of reality itself, made up of the swirling Essence that collected into the elemental poles, which formed Creation. If one wished to master reality, to shape it to their will, one needed to harness the basic groundwork of these elements. This made sense to Jalah, but how one went about this 'mastering' was causing her confusion. She read on, completely absorbed into trying to understand its wisdom, flipping through the chapters, analyzing the depictions, and going over the structure of several spells. Her hopes vainly rose, wanting to grasp her mistress's power. If she could, she'd escape being nothing more than a slave, cast away to feed a spirit or demon's graces. Her wish clouded her mind with wild fantasies of freedom, even dreaming of going home to the dying city of Nishimo - where her spying on a bandit gang lead to her capture as a child. She always wondered what happened to her family. _Do they still weep for me? Wouldn't they be surprised if I returned with the power of the Dragons._

Her mind then drifted into an image of a beautiful tower, carved right out of the rock by the seashore. She heard the waves crashing against the jagged coast, actually hearing them from within the structure. Her thoughts flashed to a room filled with bitter incense, as her eyes went over a book similar to Kelohay's. A woman with hair of thick golden curls and the dark skin of a Southerner, called her attention. She looked up at_...my instructor…_who glowed with a brilliant, but filmy white and gold light...

The vision faded from her sight with a gasp, not sure what she just witnessed. Not even sure how much time had passed, she glanced around, finding the room glowed with the light of the setting Sun. _What's this, there's no windows down here?_ She looked for the source, only to discover the light originated off herself. Jalah was surrounded with an aura of bright gold, which reached into many hues of reds, deepening to blues. This light floated with fleeting power symbols and swirling storms that crackled eerie lightning, before fading back into pure color. Her analyzation of them was cut short, gripped by an intense power poring into her being, like when her mistress summoned the elemental, but multiplied a hundredfold.

Frightened, Jalah retreated completely within the chamber. _Is this what happens if a mortal unlocks sorcery?_ She was utterly aghast at the situation as her inner light completely filled the room. The servant looked toward the chamber's far wall, opposite of the door and could feel the Sun set, its rays reaching over the horizon, pulling night over Creation. With this revelation, Jalah balked. _No. I've become possessed by an Anathema. Oh by the Dragons, no! _She went into a near panic, attempting to focus and do something, anything before her mind was taken. Jalah squeezed onto the jewel of Kelohay's necklace, and feeling its strange warmth, realized she needed to escape at once.

)"(


	9. Night

**Night**

The Night Eye cast her silvery light on the City of Glass, aptly named with its ancient towers of colored glass stretching hundreds of arms into the heavens. The buildings had long been abandoned, many broken and cracked from the centuries, spilling their unnaturally strong substance onto the vermilion streets of the same material. In the shadow of these structures, Chiaroscuro of the Second Age was built. From the broken fragments, along with stone and mortar dragged from the hills, did the new inhabitants construct their homes, such as the dome topped, limestone mansion that Ryana currently studied. It joined other wealthy abodes, a few blocks from the city's Grand Bazaar, where the wealthiest of traders and craftsmen had carved out an enclave for themselves.

The two Blades hurried for the shadows of the spike tipped wall and knelt, scanning the silent streets. They were now garbed in black clothing, their faces veiled, readying their climbing claws. Ryana looked to the sky and kissed the luck charm that joined her other amulet, then made sure both were tucked out of the way, beneath her top.

"I still say this job's suicide, Sahar," she whispered. "One day of planning and on the eve of Calibration for Plentimon's sake", calling on the god of gambling, "they couldn't refuse me membership any longer, so they mean to get rid of me this way."

Sahar scoffed, "What is it this time, the fact you're a woman or you're Delzhan?"

"You know it's both. You became a full Blade at what, sixteen? I'm almost twenty…And besides, I'm only half Delzhan."

"Like any of it matters Ryana. Hell, even the Malek has some shasu in him. Most woman don't have your skill either, so consider yourself fortunate, you're a Blade now."

Ryana sneered, "Most men don't have my skill, including most of those on the conclave."

Sahar stared straight at his former student, "Let's just get this over with." He also removed a necklace, marked with his horoscope, and kissed it in a gesture for luck.

Ryana sighed. _He has no idea…_Sahar had always been supportive of her, but like any man, he took his acknowledged merit and respect for granted. Despite her accomplishments, Ryana had to always prove herself twice as much. She put such thoughts aside however, she needed to focus if this mission was to succeed.

The two robbers went to work, ascending the stone barrier. They quickly and stealthfully reached the top, dropping into the extensive garden that covered the courtyard below, rolling as they hit the ground from the ten arm-length descent. In a bush of roses, the Bishah watched the pair of bored guards at the wall's gates, protected by coffee colored buff jackets with yellow trim. The men grumbled about not being able to play dice with their new mandate of protecting the dreamstone. Something in Ryana's gut whispered for her to kill them; two less to factor into an equation of the job going awry. She ignored the urge, knowing Sahar would never go along with it, considering it sloppy.

The pair crept through the gardens, keeping low as possible as they moved toward a bell shaped window. The female Blade reached for the glass covering, and as their informant promised in his notes, it was unlocked. Going on to enter first, she slipped through the opening like an eel. Remaining low by instinct, despite the abyss of a hallway, she kept watch with her unblinded senses as Sahar slid in right after. Once he shut the window, the pair crept along.

Even in the dimness, outlines of mansion's lavishness could be felt. Passing under a high arched ceiling, they pressed against half-columns, marking every corner. Outlines of relief carvings rubbed against her fingers, which Ryana guessed was the story of the owners lineage, played out along the passing walls. At the same time, her soft booted feet touched the posh carpeting that the thief was glad for, muffling their steps even more.

The Bishah prowlers followed the hall to the spacious main room, lowly lit by a few flickering lamps. Here, the carpet gave way to a massive rug with hypnotizing geometric patterns; leafy plants lined the walls, reaching up to the huge tapestries that honored, through beautifully sown calligraphy, the Guilder's most prestigious ancestors. Comfortable furniture and a few small sculptures completed the décor. On Ryana's left, was the fireplace and family shrine - a carving to the household spirit and niches for the urns of dead relatives sat above the dying night flame. To her right, and around the corner, was a triple arched entryway to a double staircase, which would take one to the upper wings of the merchant lord and his family's private quarters. It also lead to another guarded room, where more misinformed thieves would assume the dreamstone to be hidden.

Ryana's ear then caught the sound of a sandaled foot step. She gave a silent warning to her new brother, and both melted back into the pitch of the hallway. Each readied a knife from the many concealed on their person, and waited for the intruder.

Entering from the hall, on the opposite side of the staircase, was a man in his mid-thirties. His scarlet hair a mess from sleep, and his mahogany skin was warmed from a smock and robe. He glanced about with a fearful expression, illuminated by the candle he carried. Both of the skilled skulkers quietly snuck out from their cover, keeping just out of his light as they circled him. Ryana figured he was probably the servant - reminding her why she hated the short notice of the mission, giving them no proper time to stake out their target.

Sahar spoke softly, "Do not move."

The man froze, his knees shaking as his nervous eyes darted back and forth. Ryana positioned herself just behind him, ready to end his life with a quick jab of her weapon.

Her mentor went on, still beyond the man's vision in the shadows, "Who are you?"

"I-I-I'm Dovus…" he stammered. "Are you with…"

Ryana whispered to the identified servant, "Do not even say our name."

He jumped, so startled he nearly dropped his candle holder.

Sahar was at his side. "Be quiet," then gave his former student a crossed look. She only rolled her eyes in reply, unseen in the blackness. Sahar returned his attention to Dovus, "So, you said it was warded, do you have the pass?"

The servant collected himself, "Yes…" Gulping, he retrieved a simple polished stone from his pocket, engraved with a symbol of protection, "And I can tell you, this wasn't easy to sneak from…"

She grabbed his shoulder and pressed, "Shhhh."

The thieves proceeded to their task. With the aid of Dovus, they rolled up the rug, clearing the floor-covering nearly halfway to expose the stone tiling beneath. Toward the center, was a tile etched with what Ryana presumed was a warding sigil. Dovus warned them away, "Do not go near it."

Listening, the Blades held back as the treasonous slave knelt down and touched his stone to the center of the symbol. "Okay, it's safe."

Ryana was somewhat disappointed, expecting some kind of reaction, like glowing lights and crackling energies, such as in stories of magic. Still, it was definitely for the best in not attracting unwanted attention.

She joined in with Sahar to lift the slab. A brief struggle later, the Blades managed to remove the floor piece, revealing a small chest, which the pair both lifted to free. Sahar studied the lock, then pulled his picks from a side pocket and began working at getting through the final obstacle. A moment later, a huge, brilliant green gem lay before their eyes, and it was indeed as large as the Malek had heard. Sahar glanced up to his partner, both smiling through their eyes.

Dovus spoke up, "So where's my reward, and the name of the ship I'm suppose to take?"

The female Bishah figured the slave was promised freedom to the land of his choosing, probably the Blessed Isle, where the Guild held little influence. The Malek never told her of his agreement with him, only to offer him the sharp end of her blade. Though she might have felt some tinges of guilt at the dupes fate, it was an undeniable fact she'd be the one going onto to another life. So Ryana slid free a knife she hid in a bracer. Dovus, by chance, turned to her just as the weapon was unsheathed.

"You bastards!" He screamed. "Help," Dovus cried as he motioned to shove his killer back.

Ryana snapped a kick to his groin, silencing him. Then followed with her original intentions, burying the knife in his throat, quickly twisting before pulling it free. Just as he hit the floor, she could already hear the rushing footsteps of the upstairs guards, as well as the other internal pair, who slept until their shift. At this point, she wished she had listened to her gut and slew the outside watchers. _We could have just made a run for the gate then, damn it!_

Sahar gripped the dreamstone, loosening his own blade, "We can reach the window, hurry!"

The younger robber could sense the guards about to enter the room, when she felt something erupt inside her. The shadows themselves suddenly moved, wrapping around her like a blanket. She didn't understand what was happening, but some instinct told her to grab Sahar and fall back deeper into the dim. Her former teacher tried to struggle, not aware what was going on either, though soon went stiff as the four guards fully entered. They gazed about with their weapons, clearly not seeing the thieves as they investigated the scene. One sentinel, still in his night clothes, went to Dovus, announcing he was dead. Then the front door burst open and the gate guardians joined them.

"Search the grounds, they might still be here!" The kneeling guard told his fellows, before turning to the Guilder, who observed with alarm at the top of the stairs. He went to his employer, while the other armsmen scattered to search.

Noticing they left the door wide open, Ryana nudged Sahar along toward their escape route. She had no comprehension of what was occurring, but whatever shroud was concealing them, continued to hold as they snuck right out the main entrance and back over the walls beyond.

The younger Bishah kept moving, her only desire was to put as much distance between them and the merchant lord's home as possible. The pair slid through the narrow passes between the rich homes, avoiding the streets as much as possible, until they came just before the workshops and stands of the Bazaar. Here they had hidden plain clothes, to slip unnoticed into the great market place.

Just as they came upon their cache, Sahar stalled. "What the hell happened back there?" He was absolutely bewildered.

Ryana turned to answer, "I don't know…" Her voice drifted off, spotting the look of horror spreading over her mentor's face, "What…"

That's when she became aware of a glow, a faint purple and gold light emanating from her body. Ryana grabbed a larger and cleaner knife from her waist, and saw her forehead was marked by a golden hued ring. "By Kemu…what is this…?"

"…Anathema…oh by the…you're…" Sahar was too terrified to speak coherently.

"No!" Ryana gasped.

"You're marked though…", Sahar panic bled into his voice, "I have to…I have to get away!"

Ryana had to shut him up, there had to be another explanation. Watching Sahar turn to flee, her own fright took control of her limbs. Before she even realized it, her hand launched the knife at her fellow Bishah, flying true, striking him square in the back. Just as he hit the ground, his wide-eyed former student hurried to him. Cradling him as he bled out, attempting to replace the loss by fearfully sucking down air, she told Sahar to hold on. But in a few breaths, life forever drifted from his eyes.

The thief fell to her rear, Sahar still in her embrace. She held the man who had been her teacher, her sponsor, and a father to her. A man she'd just murdered. Ryana let tears fall for the first time in years while her anima continued to shine.

)"(


	10. Vengeance

**Vengeance**

The horses came to a stop, breathing hard from their jaunt across the plantations of Paragon. Wind Fire dismounted, heading over to the nearly dry stream nestled in the low hills of the vedltland around them. They'd been running for Sun movements to escape, but he had yet to detect even a hint of pursuit. _Maybe they're frightened of me_, he said to himself, thinking on how he'd become_…I don't even want to say it._

Wind Fire put the thoughts aside, noticing his sister still struggling with her bonds. Feeling like an idiot for that neglected detail, he pulled a knife from his belt, "Topaz, let me."

She brought her hands over, but paused, wide eyed once she took full view of the young warrior.

"I'm not going to hurt you…whatever's happened to me…" he attempted to calm her, cutting her hands free.

Topaz interrupted him, struggling out, "I know…I know brother…but you're still…still glowing."

The Abisi was indeed still surrounded by a very faint illumination from the explosion of power at his tribe's campsite. He realized Topaz, and even Storm couldn't take their eyes off the mark emanating from his forehead, "What does it look like?"

Storm answered first, "Like a small Sun, with lines, like Sunrays."

"The mark of the Forsaken," Topaz went onto describe, naming one of the five caste's of the Anathema.

Wind Fire faced away from his siblings and took a view of the surrounding landscape, where his eyes caught a quick glance of the Sun. The blazing celestial object began its long descent from midday, which in way, he could actually feel. _Why did you curse me? Then again you freed me...Agh, what am I saying? The Anathema aren't your children, Initi. They stole your power. _ He named the spirit of the Sun, the Day Eye, who shined the light of his great torch over Creation as he journeyed across the skies, just as the Dragons tasked him with so mortals could see what they what they were doing. _But why do I feel a part of you?_ He didn't know what to make of this, taught like any child of the hideous demons the Anathema were, stealing Initi's light to trick mortals into worshiping them. With this lie, they had held all of Creation in bondage like the Perfect held his people; and even after their usurpation, the mad spirits continued to possess innocent folk, reaping mayhem and destruction out of revenge. Yet Wind Fire had no murderous urges, only fear and concern flowed through his veins, primarily over the fates of his brother and sister.

It was then he heard the thundering hoofs of an army of horses, causing the siblings to jump in their saddles with alarm. Wind Fire could tell they were coming from the other end of the stream, just stunned, not knowing how they could have found them; he took care once they cleared the fields to keep away from any arteries of travel. _They __shouldn't have any__ idea what length of the stream we'd be on._ On that thought, the Abisi saw the scarlet outline of the eye on his sister's hand. _Five-curses__! Why didn't I think of this?_ Cursing at the revelation of the Perfect tracking them through the unnatural connection.

A plan formed in his mind and he began to cut off strips of his robe, "Hurry, blindfold yourselves!"

"What?" Topaz was taken back.

"Just do it."

She raised up her palm, and become conscious of what her brother had. "Oh Fire…you have to leave us."

"No!" He fiercely refused, beckoning them to take the strips.

His siblings submitted and blindfolded themselves, followed by Wind Fire taking their mount's reigns. While doing so, he saw their pursuers, coming over the far slopes, recognizing not only the cavalry of the Paragonese, but the colors of the Three Fires. He felt a slight stab of betrayal, but scolded himself, knowing they had little choice. _Besides, I'm a monster now._

Wind Fire wasted no more time, taking flight with his relatives in tow. The fugitive warrior hoped the animals could take one more race, charging to a location only he knew of. They just had to clear the harriers first and they'd be safe there. Just as the desire for speed entered his mind, the aura around him flared. The Hahjab was about to curse himself, for his anima making a more obvious target of themselves, when he felt a jump of speed from his mount. The landscape became a blur, while their hunters faded more and more into the distance. Not knowing who else to praise, Wind Fire simply thanked Initi.

Feeling safe they clearly outpaced his pursuit, he reared the horses to come around the army before continuing south. His sanctuary was a small wateringhole he discovered last Fire Season, on his usual lonely hunts. He figured with Topaz and Storm blinded, the Perfect would have no idea where to find them. And by the time the last rays of the day, and the year for that matter, reached over the horizon, they had arrived.

Storm questioned, "Where are we?", brushing aside the tall, desiccated brown grass from his face.

"You know for a thousand times Storm, he can't tell you," Topaz chided him this time.

"Well, we're here now," Wind Fire stopped the horse from their slow trot in the sea of towering pasture, looking upon the puddle left from the searing heat of the season.

Topaz and Storm removed their blindfolds, joining their brother in dismounting and letting their rides eagerly feast on the remnants of water.

Wind Fire took one sight of the Moonless sky of Calibration, knowing the Perfect's forces wouldn't dare continue their hunt. "I won't say how long we're staying, for obvious reasons, but you two should sleep."

"Yeah, let's see the Perfect find us now," Storm cockily declared, taking an eye to his mark. "Whoa, it's gone."

"What?" Wind Fire and Topaz both exclaimed.

The older brother took hold of his hand, while Topaz viewed her own. To his horror, he witnessed not a vanished eye, but a shut one, "Oh by the gods, no!"

Both his siblings clinched in pain, collapsing as waves of agony struck their bodies.

He cried, "Topaz! Storm!" _But they have to be inside for the mark to take them!_ It was common knowledge that when one's eye-mark closed, this execution would only come to the condemned once they were off the streets, indoors, and after Sunset, just as Sun Blade died in his tent. _They should be safe...They..._Yet he watched their deaths come, knowing there was nothing he could do to save them.

His siblings cried out too, wailing as they convulsed. Falling to his knees with tears of frustration raining down, Wind Fire took hold of his baby brother and elder sister, squeezing onto them as their bodies grew ever still, and cries faded to dying gasps. When they ceased, the Abisi knew they were gone.

"Damn you!" He shouted with every once of fury, still clutching his siblings. "I swear I'll kill you! Hear me, by all the gods and all my ancestors, even the Yozis…I'll be the one that crushes the life out of you Perfect…I SWEAR IT!"

Wind Fire held the lifeless bodies of Topaz and Storm all night, grieving for them while cursing the Perfect and all of Paragon. He didn't move until he again felt the Sun rise.

)"(


	11. Justice

**Justice**

Smoke wafted up high from the funeral fires as Tonauac knelt before them. The pyres were the bodies of his former partners, and he sent them off to their ancestors with prayers of enlightenment for their next reincarnation. He decided to do the services himself, being the least he could do to make up for their assault. Even though some of the Dusters, and himself in regards to Usah, wanted to leave the bodies to the scavengers, he wanted none of their ghosts haunting his back. The Madjai even dragged out the Duster guide to the fires, to unburden the hill folk further; the traitor was promptly chased down and stoned to death after Tonauac 'finished' his partners.

Done with his final blessings, he looked up to see not a setting Sun over the Dust Hills, but an altar. It was carved of what appeared to be crystal or glass, covered in arcane hieroglyphs, which slowly began to make sense to him. The carvings were dedicated to his celestial patron, who shined his light on all of Creation. Atop the altar was a familiar man, oak skinned with long flowing emerald hair. He was dressed in a funeral shroud of silver and gold thread, connected by white silk. This man was his friend, a member of his circle for nearly a millennium...He reached out with hands that weren't his own and called upon the might the greatest of Gods had invested into his being. Upon touching his fallen companion, the mortal remains burst into flames, finishing the ceremony by letting a devotion for his next life drift with the smoke up to the Unconquered Sun...

The vision faded, dissipating like the fumes off the slain Madjai. It took Tonauac a moment to recover from it, which felt like some long lost memory, but obviously not his own. He gazed at his hands, still surrounded by a slowly dying golden aura. _Is this how it begins, how the Anathema's spirit eats my mind?_ Tonauac still felt like himself, no wish to kill or conquer like in the tales told to scare him as a child.

The giant then heard the approach of another, turning to face Gust. The Duster leader leaned heavy on a makeshift cane, clutching his bandaged stomach. He possessed a pained face, of both physical and emotional wounds.

"I called you, Anathema," Gust stated. "Lost in prayer?"

"Yeah..." Tonauac replied. Not only confusion over his vision kept his tongue, but the shame from his actions against the man and his people.

Gust drew closer, "You're lucky I'd never kill a man in prayer...or one whose life I owe to."

The enforcer glanced away. For too long he'd choked his conscience, telling himself he needed to be cruel as the world. In the past Sun Movements he'd come to realize that he was no more than a tool of corruption and oppression, of the same liking as he sought to escape when he left Lap years before. There, in his home city, a meritocracy supposedly existed, where all citizens labored to earn their positions. No matter they born to rich or poor, all children of Lap worked from the bottom up. _Or so they say_, seeing his father practically break his spine and rise to nothing more in the quarries, while the sons and daughters of the elite soon found shortcuts and quick advancement to a better life. Tonauac refused to live a lie, rejecting the contract of service, he left his birthplace behind, along with his severed fingers into exile. With these thoughts, a contradiction arose, _Are Ananthema suppose to have such thoughts? I figured I was going to turn into a demon at any moment?_

Gust stood next to the man who once hunted him, taking in the same view of the second to last Sunset of the year. "I can see you want to apologize. Save your words, they can't bring back my wife or any of my people you and your ilk killed."

"I know," Tonauac replied, freeing his guilt from the chamber he'd locked it away in.

"I'm surprised such feelings come from a Blasphemer, like yourself."

"Blasphemer?"

"Your mark," the Duster pointed to the brilliant disk, still shining from his forehead. "Your kind were divided into five castes. Yours spread the lies and worship of the false Sun-god, hence blasphemer...if the tales are true."

Tonauac pondered on Gust's words for moment. "Well I feel no urge to preach of some unknown god. Initi's torch is the only thing I know of the Sun."

Gust reluctantly smiled, "Another fact that makes me question the stories I was reared with..." He paused, "However, I know some other stories. Supposedly old ones, according to some preachers that wandered through here a few seasons back; called themselves the Illuminated or something. But they made claims that paint a different light, at least on your patron."

The Madjai stood silent, ready to listen to the Duster's wisdom.

Gust started his narration, "They say there was a time, so long ago barely anyone remembers, when the Yozis of Malfeas ruled Creation, and our people, all of humanity, were their slaves. The demons' abuses were so grave, their servants, the Gods, could not abide. So they led humanity in revolt, at the behest of the true Sun-god, or at least Initi's true name, the Unconquered Sun. He put some of his divinity into us mortals, making your kind, the Shining Ones, the Solars."

With the last sentence leaving Gust's lips, something again stirred in Tonauac's mind. He looked through the eyes of another man, gazing upon a blooded army. Many were ordinary men and women of all the skins of Creation. Amongst the host a great number glowed with the elemental fury of the Dragon Blooded; while a smaller force of bestial warriors shimmered with the colors of Luna; and another set illuminated such as himself. They were all armed with weapons of awe - blades and armor of Jade, and materials of the purest gold and silver he had ever laid his eyes upon. Some of the soldiers rode high within the fabled Warstriders, massive suits of armor that towered past the heights of trees and smaller buildings. He stepped atop a rocky outcropping, overlooking this legion right out of myth, on a wasteland of a battlefield. Beyond, he could see storm clouds gather, but they moved far too quickly. Growing closer, he witnessed not clouds, but a thousand, maybe millions of winged abstractions – glowing diamondoid things, carried by hundreds of wings made of pure grayish-blue light. This alien sight sent his anima flaring to its absolute most brilliance, and his voice to cry the name of his god before leaping down to join the army's charge...

"Hey Madjai!" Gust called to him, snapping his fingers before his eyes.

Tonauac blinked, shocked at the vividness of his sight, "Sorry..."

"I'd say something's wrong with you, but we already know that."

"I don't know...I think I saw...remembered what you just said."

"Or the other stories are true and the Sun spirit's claiming your soul." Gust stepped away, back toward his village. "Well, either way Anathema, you need to leave and never return. As long as you do, I'll keep silent if the Wyld Hunt sniffs this way," naming the holy order of warriors dispatched by the Realm to hunt his 'kind'. "With that, my debt to you is paid."

With Gust leaving, Tonauac was quiet. He thought on what he'd done, the visions he had, and what he'd become. Then the giant had an epiphany, "Gust, wait!"

The Duster returned his attention to him.

"If I'd become a monster, I'd of killed you before...I choose to believe the other story." He glanced to the descending sun, "Like this Unconquered Sun, I won't serve another to put innocents under the whips of tyrants and pimps", turning back to the hill folk leader, "I swear Gust, I'll make Trajos answer for his own crimes." _Along with all those who think they're above justice, because of their privilege_, he vowed more to the Sun than himself. He wasn't sure if he could believe in this forgotten Sun-god, whether this was the Day Eye's true face or another deity all together, but he liked the idea of Gust's story, and tossing a prayer his way couldn't hurt.

His speech done, Tonauac gathered his gear and took to his mount, setting off for Brass to follow his convictions once again.

)"(


	12. Freedom

**Freedom**

Once the ink was dry, Jalah rolled up the parchment and dropped the forged pass into a scroll case. With that task done, and much to her relief, she was ready to depart. The servant checked the heavy robe she pulled from Tefel's closet, making sure her lit aura was concealed beneath the stifling garment. She had worried the anima would continue being a beacon, but it began to fade to a soft radiance as she calmed down; the newborn Anathema then left the subterranean chamber to make a hasty escape.

Jalah entered the hall of the keep, from Tefel's personal study, and caught a view from an open window. It revealed the courtyard below, where revelry raged forth. She spied the male Dragon Blooded diplomat, drinking heavily with his Thresholder friends, while prostitutes of both genders provided more carnal entertainments. _No doubt they're celebrating the ruin I just helped deliver on this backwater._ This was probably the first time she was thankful for Calibration. _Then again I'm Anathema now, why wouldn't another dark force be helpful for another?_

The servant pulled the hood of her cloak further down, covering the half-filled circle upon her brow, and continued on toward the exit of the rich home. When reaching for the curved brass handle of the door, she heard Opal behind her.

"Jalah," her hated sister spoke with amusement, "is that you?"

She reared around as Opal stepped toward her, carrying herself with pained movements from her lashing. "So where are you going?" She looked her over with snide eyes. "I was yelled at again by Kelohay, seeing I wasn't cleaning up after the summoning."

Jalah bit her lip, and Opal drew nearer.

"Is that our mistress's tome as well?" Her giddiness rose, eying the satchel hanging off Jalah's shoulder. "Oh, the Dragons are smiling on me, Jalah. To think, I thought I would have to suffer under your thumb until I could find a way up on you. You'll be lucky if you aren't outright executed for this."

Jalah finally spoke, "Opal, wait…"

"Oh, you want to deal again?" She chuckled before growing severe. "How about you take these scars off my back, you bitch!"

She reached out to grab the runaway, but Jalah beat her to the punch, spinning out of the way of the lurch. By some instinct, she twirled around on her heal, bringing the satchel down on the rear of Opal's skull, knocking her rival flat on the floor. Shocked, she fell to the fellow servant's side and saw she bled from cracking her head against the tile, but still breathed.

Taking a quick view of her surroundings to ensure they were alone, she calmed herself, realizing any sound from the struggle would have been muffled by the shouts and music outside. The runaway then returned her attention to Opal, _I should just leave you here._ However, if Opal was discovered or woke, her escape could be noticed before she was sufficiently away. So she dragged the prone slave to a couch in a nearby room, and retrieved a dagger she had also stolen from Tefel. Shortening the end of the oversized robe, she used the strips to bound and gag Opal.

The sight of her thrust up rival brought on a low laugh, "Just as you should be."

Her tracks covered, the runaway servant made sure the robe still masked the anima before making her way out to the gardens - which decorated the path to the double-doored gate. As she reached the final barrier to her freedom, waterfalls of sweat pored down her brow, nervous from her flight and boiling under the thick cloth. Jalah desperately wanted to wipe her face clean, but knew any disturbance to her shroud could expose her. The guards ahead paid her little notice, busy celebrating privately with a bottle; it immediately went behind one of the sentinels' backs when they became aware of her approach.

"Hello, miss," one of the guardians greeted with apprehension, bowing politely.

She reached for her pass, while trying to keep her body steady. Her anxiety toyed with her, just imagining the call of alarm going off if someone discovered Opal or the leveling of their spears if they noticed a hint of the luster coming off her body.

"Forget it," the guard waved away the scroll. "Just hurry back, it's Calibration after all," giving her desiring smile.

Jalah forced herself to smirk back, then passed through to the streets of Chibala. She couldn't help but really smirk at this point, _I'm out…by my ancestors…I'm free!_ She forced herself to focus however, heading away from the keep in the small neighborhood that housed the representatives of the Realm, knowing she still had to get out of the city. So the runaway continued on, barely able to hold her desire to rip the robe off her body. Jalah made her way to the docks, one of the few places she knew how to transverse to, being curious of the route on their initial journey to Tefel's home. Her pass easily worked to breach the inner wall of the elite's domain and out into the bazaar beyond. The salty smell of the ocean grew stronger with each step, and she shook with excitement, but her heart also fluttered with fear of possible capture. Though the stalls and shops were largely closed, the streets were alive with the common folks' festivities. Yet this was no obstacle, flowing through the human mass with the practiced ease of slave wishing to remain unnoticed, having learned early on to be invisible except when called upon. Observing their drinking and dancing, she couldn't help but to cynically think, _Celebrate tonight, because tomorrow you starve._

The runaway blinked and suddenly found herself on a balcony, overlooking a marvelous metropolis - whose streets circled through the blocks, branching out like spokes on a wheel, surrounded by buildings that appeared to have been raised and carved from one solid slab of marble. She turned her back from the view, leaning her body against the rail and supporting herself with an oak colored hand. Her eyes fell upon a lithe woman, with shoulder length, ruby hair, around a gold casted face. The annoyed looking visitor, who Jalah somehow knew was a friend, made several cold comments about the necessity of putting down the leaders of a riot. She, or whoever the slave was, argued back about starvation driving the mortal mob and cursed her friend's compliance. The argument grew more heated until she faced away from the woman, returning to the city. It was then she detected an attack, snapping around to see her friend leap, anima blazing. Jalah responded with her own Sun gifted might...

When she came to, she was standing in a defensive posture in the middle of the street, the revelers avoiding her with weary eyes. Collecting herself, she ignored the gawkers and fled to the docks, determined to not let this Anathema's spirit overpower her soul.

Amongst the harbor, the runaway set out to find a boat, one small enough she could feel confident about piloting. Jalah stepped over passed out sailors, scanning about until she discovered a small fishing vessel. Taking one last cautious study for any onlookers, the runaway thanked the Dragons for her good fortune and went about unhooking the minuscule craft, struggling to guide into the waters of the Inland Sea.

As Chibala drifted more into her periphery, Jalah witnessed her mistress's handiwork. Columns of smoke billowed off the horizon, while panicked soldiers moved along the city's walls. She put aside the guilt over her involvement, knowing the resulting chaos was a perfect screen for her flight. Allowing her hood to finally fall, she closed her eyes as the sea breeze brushed the sweat from her face, opening them again to the moonless sky. _I guess being a demon isn't so bad after all._

The former servant then reached for the choker at her neck, tearing free the etched stone of Kelohay's House. She gave it a final look and let the symbol of her bondage fall into the sea, replacing the adornment with the rainbow colored crystal she'd swiped from the Dragon Blooded. _I'm free…and I have the power to keep it_, she mentally proclaimed, twirling the chain of the amulet like Kelohay did, feeling the warmth of its potency within.

)"(


	13. Redemption

**Redemption**

Ryana observed the pitch of night take on the soft blue of the last day of the year, just as the body of Sahar was reduced largely to ash. She finally raised herself from the knelt position she'd rested in, praying for his soul's forgiveness, and rubbed away dried tears for the second time that night. The previous wiping had occurred when she broke into the shop of a carpet-weaver; needing to focus, she cleared her eyes and retrieved a cover for her mentor's body. The thief then hurried away from the bazaar, and into the stain glass ruins of the Old City, where she wept a second time at the hasty funeral conducted for him.

The Bishah retrieved a stark white clay urn, a beautifully crafted piece of the much sought after ceramics produced by the city of Elysium, which she'd also stolen, and began to gather up the burnt leavings. _I know Sahar, your youngest should be doing this…but I guess I'll do. _She hollowly laughed to herself, knowing the man barely knew his actual children, simply sending money to his estranged wife.

As Ryana placed handful after handful within the urn, she reminisced of her other father's funeral. She solemnly watched, in the best dress her family's meager resources could afford, as her male parent was reduced to smoky dust. Though his sendoff was a simple affair, the Chiaroscuroan city guard had pooled enough Jade to give a descent memorial for one of their own. Aside from this, and a few Dinars the Master of the Guard gave out of sympathy, his family was left to fend for themselves. So much for a man who'd given his life fighting off a hungry ghost.

It wouldn't be too long after her little brother had gathered their parent into his own urn, since her baby sister was still an infant, that fate would bring her to Sahar and the Blades. They were reduced to risking the ruins, gathering fragments of the glass that had fallen from the aged towers of the Old City - haunted by the dead from the Great Contagion, which had wiped the life from the First Age ruin, amongst other things left behind in the apocalypse that nearly ended Creation. And on top of this, Ryana had to angrily watch her widowed mother get cheated out of the material's true value, haggling with the merchants who purchased the colored glass. Why respect a women, especially one without a husband?

Seeing her mother disrespected, the girl figured she didn't have to respect them either. At first it was fruit and bread snatched up to help feed her siblings and crippled grandfather. The child-thief worked her way up to pick pocketing, even slipping off with the purse of a merchant that frequently belittled her mom. Her parent had discovered the crime, and Ryana paid for it with the worst lashing of her life; but she kept the silver anyways. This deed did have the effect of getting Sahar's attention. Unknown to Ryana at the time, he had observed her while browsing the wares of another stand. Her second father would make himself known after she was spotted stealing a roast pheasant. The cornered girl was expecting to lose her hand when the Bishah stepped in, scaring off the vendor.

"You saved my life old man…" Ryana choked out, finished with amassing his remains. "Go to your ancestors Sahar, I'll take care of your family now."

With her final blessing spoken, the Blade departed the small balcony, on one of the lower levels of an ocean blue tower. She leaped out, landing on the deck below, and dropped to the glass coated street. She'd quickly discovered an increased athleticism on her journey to the secluded local. It reminded her of the other tragedy of the fading night, that she was now one of the Anathema. She didn't know what to make of her new state, already thinking of the murder she committed. _First crime as the monster I am now._ Then again, her throbbing guilt made her wonder if she truly was becoming a demon queen. Other than her increased prowess and the lingering energy that radiated off her body, she felt no difference.

On her way to Sahar's wife, she came close to her family's dwelling, at the edge of the two Chiaroscuros, entering the neighborhood of near dilapidated homes, hobbled together from stone and clay. Each of their two stories housed a family. Ryana ascended a low spire of white and violet glass, with a half missing top, overlooking where she'd grown into a woman. Climbing the rise had always been a source of pride, being the only child to ever reach its top, out showing the grumbling boys who wouldn't admit to her superior skill. Her present ascent didn't even phase her, scaling it like a spider from the well memorized footholds.

Aloft, the Bishah had a perfect view of her family rising with the new day. In one window, her brother, Eagle, aided their grandfather from his bed. Through the next opening, Ryana observed her mom and little sister, Jasmine, preparing breakfast before another hunt for their livelihood in the ruins. Despite their poverty her heart ached for her old life. Since she'd been thrown out years ago, all she wanted to do was go home sometimes. _If Mom would only take my Jade, they could move out of this hole. Honest fool._ She immediately silenced her mind, knowing her mother only wanted a daughter she could be proud of, not a murdering thief and assassin. Ryana also knew legitimate success would only come to one of her gender through marriage, and her family had nothing to offer to get a suitor of any substantial means. _And now that I'm an Anathema, my prospects will only increase_, she bitterly joked.

Pondering on her new status, she thought deeply on what to do next. Tempted to flee the city, if only to preserve her own life. If discovered, she only had the Wyld Hunt of the Dragon Blooded to look forward too. She also feared transforming into the beast, whose stories terrified her as she was tucked into bed. _"If you're not good, an Anathema will take your soul"_, her mother would warn her when she was small; she could be putting all her kin in peril. Though, another path emerged to her attention, _I could stay._ With just some of the powers she wielded that night, almost any prize was in her grasp. With this idea becoming more appealing, a faint ambition the thief once had returned. When younger, she thought of just stealing enough to strike it rich and move her family to some place far away, leave the South altogether for the independent Scavenger Lands of the East or even the paradises of the Western Isles (if they indeed existed). Reaching adulthood, the thief realized what a fantasy that was, especially as she become more involved with the Blades. _Now that I'm in, there's no way out but death._

Giving it one more turn in her head, Ryana made her decision. _I'll save my family from this, I have too, for their honor and my own, and for Sahar. I'll use this curse for something good._

)"(


	14. Bright Hawk

**Book 2: Bound Beyond Time**

**Bright Hawk**

_The wind blew all around her, swirling about in a chaotic mess. Then a lash literally cut her dark-skinned cheek, trickling blood down on her armor of metallic sunlight until the wound sealed itself. The wind was becoming glass before her very eyes and would have shredded her if she were mortal; it only broke or pricked at her Essence hardened frame._

_"The Wyld's taint has grown strong," her companion said, howling over the unnatural storm as he shifted from a silvery Saluki into his battle form. He now stood nearly eight arms tall, an amalgamation of canine and man - lean, but firm with muscle beneath his robes and turban of silver and shadowy thread, protected in layers of Moonrays pounded into chain. "The beast can't be far."_

_"You never know in the Wyld. We could travel for a tail's length in the waste to find it only touches a few arms of Creation," she replied as she removed her shimmering bow. The arching weapon was shaped like two stylized hawks gripping the rise; their wings spread up to form most of the bow's limbs._

_"Then let's…" the hound-man grew quiet, snarling as he swung around._

_She joined the beastman as a cry like a thousand tons of crashing glass consumed the night. With an arrow notched, she gazed at the horror - ten arms at the shoulder, three times as long, and a body of bone and razor-sharp crystal shaped into some kind of lizard-beast._

_She charged the shaft with her divine might; while her companion snatched out his huge, twin curved-blades, made of the same substance as his armor. He leaped high in the air to pounce, his daiklaves a spinning dervish. She let loose her glowing arrow, aiming for what she hoped was its eye…_

)"(

Wind Fire let the bolt fly, shooting off harmlessly into the dim. The young Hahjab gazed out into the darkness. The rocky ground of the mountain pass was below him. No desert of crystal or gusts of glass or Wyld twisted monsters. There was just the cold lonely peaks rising all about him. He let his weapon, a normal composite bow of horn and wood, drop to the ground before joining it himself, collapsing to his knees and not even noticing the pain.

He had no idea what was happening to him. His mind flooded with visions for days, maybe weeks. Cities rose as high as the clouds, with chariots that flew on the winds alone. He witnessed palaces of such beauty he wept, and battles…against fiends that shattered mountains, commanding legions of terrors that were so alien it strained his mind to gaze upon them, and of such numbers they blotted out the skies…Wind Fire closed his eyes in a feeble attempt to force them out. By all the gods he knew, even the Immaculate Dragons, he prayed for deliverance.

The nomad made his way back to his own camp, for his 'memories' had taken him over a mile away. Once returned, he dropped onto his robe, which doubled as a bedroll. He hadn't a clue where he was headed, driven ever onward by whatever force possessed him. His two companions sat beside the dead fire, the ashy remains of his siblings, each tucked into their own leather bags. He didn't remember much after they were slain by the Perfect's witchcraft as the alien visions took forefront. He'd awaken from their grasp on horseback with his sister and brother's bodies bound tightly on Cisnero's mount. When the horse died, he burned their remains and cooked the animal.

As the pyre of his dearest died, another flame burned his skin, except he was in the body of a woman. Her veins ran hot with betrayal as she and her fellows tried to escape a massive barred chamber of Jade, consumed by golden flame. She managed to breech the gates with a desperate leap, shocked to see on the other side a massive assembly of Dragon-Blooded. Her disloyal soldiers, ready in their strongest armor and gripping with their deadliest weapons, rushed forth to launch a battle that ended an age…

)"(

The days rolled on. Some inner magic of his new state was the only thing sustaining him. His clothes were beginning to fray, his rations dismally low, and his beloved ride, Northern Breeze, was on her last leg. Wind Fire didn't know how much more he could take of this. He lived in two minds, which pushed him ever forward to some destination that felt familiar. He rested when he could, pondering on what he'd become.

He knew he was Anathema, one of the Sun-demons cast down by the Exalted Dragon Blooded in the time before. His sister had named his caste, one of the Forsaken. Its mark had glowed from his forehead - a brand composed of a ring, surrounded by lines, like rays that emanated off the celestial light, mocking it. From what he could remember, they were the warriors of the fallen beings, abandoned and betrayed or something by the other castes to fight the Dragon's children. The Abisi didn't know what to think of this, being possessed more and more by memories that weren't his own. Figuring he must be losing his soul, and that soon the Anathema would take hold of him completely. However, why would he be given such power to fight his enslavers? Why were the memories filled with battles against demons and the Fae, protecting mortal folk…

)"(

_In an enclosed dusty valley, the structure rose out of the sheer side of the mountain. Two pillars, carved to resemble the Unconquered Sun and Luna, held up the relief carving of the Battle of Glass Sands - where she and her lover slew the crystal beast, avenging a dozen massacred villages._

_She turned to him, then in the shape of a man, with detail catching Moon-colored eyes. "This was the spot we fled to, after the fight where we began our love." She took hold of his wiry body, "I discovered it was an unknown demense and had this built by my friends in the Earth Court."_

_"It's beautiful, my love." He took her in his arms and they kissed. "Now we have an abode for our feelings to be free."_

_"Yes…but I wish we could be free in the open."_

_"You know that's impossible…my wife would never let me go. And you two are circlemates as well."_

_"I know, but you know she cares for her pleasures more than either of us. She sends you out like a dog to police her domain…"_

_He interrupted, "It could lead to more trouble, Radiance…and things are already troubled as it is."_

_She lowered her eyes, but he took her chin and drew his face in for another deep kiss…_

)"(

Wind Fire gazed upon the buried site, a mudslide nearly obliterating the entrance. He loosely tied Northern Breeze to a cactus, so if he didn't return she could escape. The Abisi then proceeded wearily toward the manse, feeling the flow of Creation's energies condensing into this one spot, focused through the arcane structure; he knew little about them, only that the spirits and Dragon Blooded coveted the sites for their mystic might. He squatted down and motioned his way inside the tiny ruin of an opening, letting the torch he assembled out of his bow and a robe strip reveal the path. Making out a tunnel, he cast aside his doubts and continued onward.

After crawling through the collapsed portion, he emerged into a hall with a curved ceiling, covered in pictographs and the flowing script of some long forgotten language. It ended in a small circular room, centered around a pillar of solid diamond or crystal, with more etchings of the archaic writing. He peered around the column, seeing another doorway leading into the consuming pitch of a much larger space.

Moving his torch about, he tried to uncover the layout with his meager light. Motion caught his ear, metal scraped against stone, coming closer with every breath. Wind Fire went for his scimitar, taking a defensive stance while attempting to get a view with his torch, stretching his senses further out. It was then he caught a glint of something metallic, but as soon as it touched the edge of his vision, a blur of something swiped at him. His hand twirled to parry the attack, mixed with his own skill and some supernatural instinct. Metal clanged, and with another strange urging, he shoved down whatever hit his sword, continuing with a half-spin to rear up a kick. The Abisi's boot collided into something hard, but it seemed to bend in, almost liquefying to absorb the blow. The hit still sent whatever his assailant was flying back half an arm or so, onto its back. Wind Fire then leaped at it, raising his scimitar up for a concluding chop, discarding his torch in assurance of a strike. To his surprise, his opponent wasn't as prone as he thought, feeling a rush of movement before his blade struck the hard floor of the manse.

The Abisi reared around, breathing hard from annoyance and fear at not knowing what he faced, in addition to his agitation at being dragged by his visions to this ruin. He desired light, and with that wish, Wind Fire found himself bursting into illumination. His anima returned, glowing with the hues of dawn, banishing his attacker's cover. A square cut room was exposed, leading off to three other exits, with a column stairwell of the same translucent crystal at its core. Each doorway also possessed smaller half-pillars of the diamond substance, on either side; and more relief carvings, dedicated to spirits or such, bedecked the otherwise smooth, solid walls. A variety of rotted and broken structures were scattered about on the stone tiled floor, which Wind Fire assumed had once been furniture.

Movement scurried behind the central stairs. He turned to meet it as it came up from his rear. What resembled a complete suit of plate armor charged from behind the bend, only to slam to a total halt at the sight of the shinning warrior. Getting a better look, Wind Fire witnessed no eye holes on its smooth, polished face. Its limbs seemed far too thin to hold natural human arms, moving almost like fluid with no sense of joints, ending in long gleaming dagger-sized talons.

The armor relaxed into straight soldierly position; and then, to his amazement, its face plate rippled like water, forming a mouth. "Jeqbalzhe, ni tzeláile."

Wind Fire kept his sword ready. "What?"

"Wo bantajinhéngle nu chilrènwù," it continued in its unknowable language. "Wo yiji sho'olotalik Juglià Chulying, z'ut teoxisui, zhidào alaq uxashen tzeláile. Alaq poch shiài quajxià, zà Animchal uwoting" The talking armor finished by pointing at the central stairwell before its mouth shimmered, returning to the silvery mirror it was before. Its head dropped as if it fell asleep standing.

Wind Fire went cautiously to it, studying the creature. _What the hell is this thing?_ He even jabbed at its face with the tip of his scimitar, disappointed when it didn't ripple, just making the ding of metal striking metal. It wouldn't respond in any way, even when shoved, just standing silent as a statue.

The Abisi backed away, not sure what to do, pondering over its final gesture.  
_Might as well_, and he decided to explore further, hoping to discover some answers to the strangeness that now ruled his life. Wind Fire took to the stairs, descending the ghostly steps into the abyss below. At the bottom was another door, marked by the same half-columns as in the main space. Entering, he had his blade ready for further trouble. Within a minor room was a pedestal of carved crystal, holding a small smoky diamond. Beyond this was a statue that emerged from an apse in the wall, a marble shaping of a stern woman, bearing the features of one from the Deep South. Her hair too was in locks, held back in a high pony tail, and wore etched representations of a toga, covered by intricately decorated granite armor, where a symbol of the brilliant Sun rose off its breastplate. In her hand was a bow, constructed of a bright, somewhat gold looking material; forged to resemble two hawks, the limbs carved into the animal's wings, holding a wire draw string. It was possibly the most beautiful weapon he'd ever seen, _A__nd the one from my vision…_

)"(

_She knelt in her red and gold robes, gazing upon the faces of her circle. She had only known them for the past few years, since her exaltation, but they had grown to be her new family. And this feeling was only enhanced by her past self's memories of their millennia of companionship._

_The oldest of them, who had seen the early days of the Realm, held out the power bow of the Unconquered Sun's chosen material. "Take Bright Hawk my sister, for it was yours in another life, returned to you so you may honor its legacy," the caramel skinned women spoke, whose thick golden curls fell well past her waist. She was clad in a dress of threaded Orichalum, and Blue and White Jade._

_"Thank you, Isharia," she expressed, rising to become a full member of her circle._

_The rest of the Solars gathered around with words and grasps of congratulations. An older, somewhat stout man, gave her a hug; his dusky skin was just lighter than hers, with his thin, cinnamon hair sheared close to the scalp. Next to him, a lanky man, the color of bark off a tree and possessing a long emerald mane, shook her hand. And the next youngest Exalt, a women of a gold complexion and medium ruby locks, simply bowed in her rather aloof manner._

_She held the essence powered weapon, letting it bond with her once again._

)"(

Wind Fire held Bright Hawk in his hand as his sight returned to himself. He could feel the power of the bow melding with his own spirit; and knowing the weapon was his, felt whole once again. Studying its golden length, the Hahjab noticed an etching above the handle, where the top hawk-sculpture's beak opened wide. His attention was then drawn to the precious stone, atop the pedestal. Reaching for it as well, he instantly connected with the knot of power that made up the manse, letting it flow into him as well. By that strange familiar instinct, which drove him this far, he placed the diamond into the beak of Bright Hawk. Once in place, he swore he felt the bindings that held his body thicken and harden.

The Abisi, Chosen of this Unconquered Sun, surged with might, and knew exactly what he was going to direct it toward. Burning with sworn vengeance against the Perfect, he departed, his own memories of Topaz and Storm fanning this rage higher and brighter. _You will have your justice. All our people will._

)"(


	15. Trials

**Trials**

The the light drizzle continued to fall, soaking through the robe and into her garments below. This is not what Jalah expected in her journey through the Southlands. Sure, she was glad for having no want for water - her waterskin full of the life giving liquid. For all her life however, she'd heard of the land's searing, baked landscape, drained to Creation's sandy and rocky bones. The Realm-born youth had received a taste of this when she first arrived, in the twilight of the Flame Season, but never expected her discomfort to come from the constant dampness of the South's Moon-turns of Air. With little choice but to carry on, Jalah followed near the shoreline, just far enough inland to keep the Inland Sea out of sight, but still close enough to taste its salty spray.

Jalah had been doing her best to navigate her way through this foreign corner of Creation, walking the dry, but green scrublands. Despite the weather, the Sun was still hot enough to paint her light skin with a touch of olive, which cautioned her to keep her body covered in the robe, even when the rain cleared. With a crack of thunder, Jalah saw no sunlight would be gifted to her that day, witnessing a storm quickly rolling in from the sea. She took refuge under small hedge of long leafed trees, she heard the locals refer to as 'Gum Trees'. She tied her robe amongst the branches, and took further cover by squeezing what she could of herself in a burrow. Undistracted by simply putting one foot in front of the other, the rumbles in her belly were heard again, along with the screaming sores on her feet. Jalah might have been a slave, but being a personal assistant to one of the Princes of the Earth allowed her to live without most wants. Retrieving the last bit of stale flat bread, she bought in a coastal village where she abandoned the stolen fishing boat, the runaway dared to miss prepared food.

The former servant decided to focus on something else, pulling out her book, reading again the arcane text of how Creation was pooled together from the various elements of Earth, Air, Wood, Fire, and Water. To harness the power of these elements, a sorcerer could siphon from these pools, shaping it into what she or he desired. _But by Daana'd's slippery cunt, how do you accomplish this, ugh! _Calling blasphemously on the Dragon of Water, Jalah boiled with frustration after having gone over it whenever she dared to catch a breath; but the power still eluded her. She'd heard the stories how her 'kind' had channeled some of the most unholiest of magics, surely this meant she could call on the power of Creation as well. Her frustrated eyes raised to sky once again, drawn by the lightning that danced across the heavens.

)"(

_He couldn't help but find her beauty exquisite, absolutely alluring. Even with her body wrapped in traveling robes, still of the finest silks, it was hard to keep his eyes off her for long. She turned to him, the lips of her caramel skinned face forming into that sly smile of hers, fully exposed with her cascade of golden curls bound into a long braid and partially concealed by a gauzy shawl._

_She pointed to the rumbling sky, "Do you feel it, the raw Essence at its core, shaping it into the form it currently holds?"_

_"I...I'm not sure. I can see its power", he replied, shifting uncomfortably on his Simhata. The lion-horse largely resembled a massive equine, but the animal's hoofs were more claw like, and the face was very much the cast of great cat's. They were the mounts of the Chosen, still not believing he was riding one, just as much as him being exalted by the Unconquered Sun._

_She closed her eyes, stinging him, for he knew he disappointed her. "No Soar, that is not what I meant. Any mortal, any beast for that matter, can see its power. I need you to feel it, to touch its very structure." She urged her own Simhata onward through the rocky landscape, along the road of glass that cut right through it. "You will follow this storm, study its make up, see the way its __E__ssence links and connects with the other elements of Creation."_

)"(

Recovering from the vision, Jalah rubbed her face. The memories or whatever they were would strike at random, but for once she saw a connection with her current predicament. _I guess this wasn't the first time I've had trouble treading this path._ Jalah closed her book and simply observed the tumultuous clouds, trying to see how it interacted with the other elements. How it churned the sea, watered the earth and vegetation, and no doubt singed them with its lightning, sparking fire. With night falling, the storm drifted away, following the path of the coast. So the runaway collected her things and went after it like the man in her vision.

While she walked, Jalah thought on a minor point of her 'memory'. It struck her odd the man thought he was Exalted. She had been raised to believe only the Dragon Blooded were Exalted, chosen by fate and their bloodlines, which led back to the Elemental Dragons themselves. _And the Unconquered Sun?_ She had always read the spirit of the Sun was named Tangshen, one of the distant Celestines responsible for moving the heavenly bodies about; he was tasked by the Dragons to ride his chariot of the Daystar across the sky so mortals could see the beauty of Creation, similar to the more childish Southern story of the Sun being Tangshen's torch, _O__r whatever they call him in this five-cursed Direction._ Like Hang'e of the Moon or the Five Maidens of the stars, they were obscure and seldom heard of outside of cosmological tomes and the annual Immaculate ceremonies to honor them; he played an important role in keeping existence in order, but was just a little god, not a deity equal or even surpassing the Dragons.

It was also odd to consider the Anathema connected to such a Heavenly source, taught they mocked the Sun. That at the end of the Yozi's reign, when the Dragons bit each others tales to seal off Creation, banishing them to Hell, the vengeful demon lords grabbed handfuls of the chaos in the Lands Beyond, and slipped it through the cracks and wounds still seeping from the war that overthrew them. These bits of raw Wyld, filled with bloodlust and vengeance, stole the light of Tangshen and Hang'e, and then possessed hapless mortals, beginning the dark era of the Mad Suns. Yet she didn't feel like a 'Chosen' of such a vile source. Jalah still felt like herself. _Well I have no idea why this 'god' chose me, but I can't say I'm sorry_, even with her hungry stomach, aching muscles, and blistered feet. For the first time since she was a child, she was free, not living on the whims of her mistress. _Well, thank you, Tangshen or Unconquered Sun, whatever you prefer, thank you for giving me the power to never be a slave again. I can offer you that prayer at least._ And if she was indeed a Chosen of this entity, Jalah doubted she would have been exalted to die of hunger in the wilderness.

A sign of the Unconquered Sun's grace, at least how Jalah amusingly saw it, manifested itself in the form of a caravan. Just around a shrub covered hill, lied the camp of a small grouping of Chibalan merchants, taking shelter in tents, while their bound and nervous llamas were left out to suffer the rain and thunder. The former slave approached, spotting wisps of smoke emerging from flaps atop the tents, eager for the possibility of a cooked meal in a dry warm setting.

A dog announced her presence with threatening barks, alerting the caravan. A sword carrying guard emerged, swarthy skinned like most Southerners, with his dirty blonde hair pulled back in a topknot, wearing the stripped wool ponchos that Jalah noticed were popular amongst the common people of the region. He challenged her, but relaxed once she dropped her hood.

"It's some girl, and she's all by herself", he informed the others, watching wearily from their tents. He returned his attention to Jalah, "What are you doing out here by yourself, girl?"

_These people are so backwards._ On the Blessed Isle, women were shown their proper place, respected as the gender that gave birth to the future generations and the wisdom that came with such power. In the South, it was a sharp opposite, with the easily replaceable and violently ineffective males dominating all; while their female partners were treated little better than breeding stock and maids. _How did the women down here allow this to happen_, given the barbarians were beholden to the Realm, their nations swearing allegiance to an Empress. As far as Jalah was concerned, this piece of the Threshold was perhaps the most ignorant and foolish of all four Directions of Creation.

None the less, she decided to play the part. "I'm lost and I've run out of food."

With those words spoken she was wholeheartedly welcomed into the camp. Given a warm place, right in front of the meager cooking fire within the central tent, they handed her a bowl of their simmering stew and a full loaf of flat bread. Jalah tore into them as the merchants said the lucky spirits of the Air Season's rains delivered her to them. She had to hide her contempt of such 'blessings', knowing in the Threshold the people freely worshiped the little gods; unless one was an Immaculate monk, it was forbidden on the Blessed Isle to placate the spirits, for only the Dragons themselves deserved veneration. The spirits were to keep Creation functioning, not worshiped, a lesson forgotten in these hinterlands. _I wonder how the Unconquered Sun feels about this_, she thought, plunging a piece of stew soaked bread into her mouth.

"This is a dangerous place, very wild, there isn't a village for many days travel," one of the merchants, the youngest, proclaimed.

"I know", Jalah replied. "I just passed through the one north of here. Could you point me to the next one?"

"You aren't a Southerner," another, with very curly, almost kinky hair, studied her. "Where you from, and why you traveling alone?"

Jalah paused, trying to summon some plausible lie, "I'm from the East, and my ship sunk." She took another bite of her bread, trying to recall a destination; the former slave remembered a city she'd seen on a map. "I was headed to Jolcomba."

"I'm sorry to hear that, the sea spirits can be so cruel," the final merchant, sprouting a wispy gray goatee that showed he was the oldest, said sympathetically. He took a copper amulet from around his neck, kissing it. "Jolcomba is over a Moon's turning away by foot. But we're headed south, you could join us that far. Were you the only survivor?"

Jalah called upon her glummest face as she sadly nodded yes.

The curly haired man scooped out a portion of the stew with his bread. "Yes, you should join us then. The road can be very dangerous, especially for a lonely woman." She noticed a lusty gleam in his eye, "It would be more than an honor, an obligation to see you at least partially there."

It was tempting to accept their offer, even with the curly haired merchant's not-so-noble intentions. She moved her mouth to say she'd join them, when a crack of thunder deafened them all, followed by a wet gust of wind that blew open the tent. Jalah caught a glimpse of the outside, seeing the starlight poking through the clouds, knowing the storm was moving along once again. She didn't know why, but she knew she needed to keep pace with the violent weather. So the runaway refused, no matter their insistence, even making up customs from her imaginary Eastern homeland about excepting offers from strange men. To her delight, they wouldn't let her leave without gifting her with another loaf of bread and some preserved goat meat. A sweet smile and a dinar also earned Jalah the youngest merchant's flint stone. _No more cold fireless nights for me._

The storm continued south, eventually taking her off the road and into the increasingly rough hills, growing steeper as the mountains rose closer. With the Moon beginning to set, the mountains and coastline became almost as one, and Jalah came upon a tower. The ruined, half-broken building stretched out of the rocky shore, in the shadows of some fairly steep cliffs, battered by the sea's waves. Looking on the tower, a recollection dawned on her, remembering she saw it in her first vision, when the Anathema claimed her. _No, when I was exalted..._

)"(

_"This is all yours, your inheritance from your previous incarnation," she said to him, pushing a braid of her golden curls behind her shoulder._

_"Walking Night...right?" He asked her, gazing about the study. It was packed with tomes on various subjects, ranging from treatises on the area's spirits to histories of the Near South's economy, and of course a fine collection of sorcerous knowledge._

_"Yes," she answered with a hint of sadness._

_"I'm sorry..."_

_"There's nothing to apologize about. It was indeed a tragedy, his soul returned to the cycle too soon. But such is life, and he lives on in you. One day our places may be exchanged, teaching whoever shall inherit my divinity."_

_Her words pleased him, but made him blush. He tried to hide his reddening face, embarrassed._

_She gently lifted his jaw. "You're very sweet. Don't loose that. Walking Night was much too aloof, much too rigid. But I swear you Twilights all get that way, ever striving for understanding and knowledge."_

_"I won't, I promise." He'd do anything for her. He wanted to take her hand, but knew it would be inappropriate. She was married after all, and her husband was not a man he wanted to anger._

_"Good," she let him go. "But we have much to go over, and I fear you won't have the leisurely pace of my learnings. I tell you, times are growing dark and you will need your strength."_

)"(

Jalah heard the woman's words echo in her subconscious, finding herself within a broken room, strewn with debris and collapsed masonry. Wondering how she'd gotten in her present place, the former slave realized she must have gone into the building when possessed by her memories. She pondered on the exchange between the man and woman; the man had been exalted like her, and was called a 'Twilight'. She remembered the stories of how the Anathema were divided into castes, and though unableto recall their names, she knew none were benignly named such things as Twilight. _It must be what my caste is truly called._

In the time she was consumed by her visions, the storm had passed her by. What remained of the structure still dripped with water, but it was better than sleeping outside again. So Jalah gathered a heap of the roots, vines, and moss from the tower's walls to assemble something that could fuel a fire, spending a good amount of time and effort to get them to catch aflame. Knowing it wouldn't last long, she snuggled close enough to absorb its meager heat, falling almost instantly into slumber.

)"(

_The path from his tower lead to the stairway, carved right from the rock of the cliff face by enslaved demons. It led to a cave far above, giving one a grand view of the lapping waves of the Inland Sea, crashing against the rocky and lightly vegetated coast. It was his favorite little bit of Creation, his private abode to conduct his research, or to simply escape from the tedious affairs of state and marvel at the beauty of the world._

_On a dark night of a New Moon, the cave served a different purpose. The well sculpted and smooth walls were covered with sigils and protective wards, chiseled right into the rock. They focused the essence, trapping it within the extravagant design of the summoning circle, fixed into the floor of the deepest room of the cavern. The only light came off the caster himself, his anima blaring brightly in the colors of a Sunset. Sweat dripping from his brow, he uttered the last words of the Moon Movements long chant; and with the incantation finished, all the summoned Essence bled from his body and burst through the walls of Creation, drilling into the cosmic prison of Malfeas. The energy reached out, grasping the demon he named, pulling her from the abyssal pit she claimed as her personal domain._

_Her frigid presence filled the room, and could be said to resemble a naked young adolescent female. Sheet white skin was contrasted by her tendrils of shadowy hair, which floated and drifted out like ink pored into water. Her eyes were also a dead give away of her foul nature, far too large to be natural, and solid obsidian orbs - sucking in every detail of anyone they had the misfortune of falling on, boring into the most private places of one's mind. Ashikirei, Drinker of Secrets. No mortal being, spirit, or even Exalted were exempt from her sickening and intruding glare._

_She challenged him, pushing at his might, attempting to slither past the wards; but the summoner willed her down, mentally slapping her into submission. "What do you want of me Sun-Child?" The demon demanded in a noxious, grating voice._

_"Ashikirei, I want to know what my sister is up to. I want you to drink her secrets and deliver them to me and only me! When I am satisfied with what I know, you shall be free to return to your prison," he replied with a cold commanding tone, full of revulsion for the being he summoned._

)"(

Jalah awoke from the dream, dim sunlight reaching through the many holes of the ruin. The former slave sat up and stretched, her body stiff as ever from her uncomfortable bedding, but she'd grown use to it. Peering out of an absent portion of the ceiling, she spied what appeared to be a cave, high up in the cliff face. _That's the same one from my dream_, and with that thought, she hurried outside.

Under a lightly overcast sky, Jalah discovered the same steps from her memory, cracked and eroded with age, but still usable. She ascended them as fast as she dared, careful not to slip on their slick and unreliable surface. Reaching the cave, Jalah hesitated for a moment before its dark depths, but her yearning to explore pushed her foot foreword. Only arms in, the darkness ate her sight, but her desire for light called on her inner jubilation again, freezing from the surprise of the soft golden glow surrounding her.

The aura revealed the same smooth innards, and stepping deeper she came upon a chest. Its metal frame corroded completely to rust, while the wooden body was decayed. Her curiosity again tossed caution to the wind, kneeling to open it; the lock was gone, as well as any strength in its hinges, breaking once lifted. In contrast to the container, gleaming unblemished chain lied within. Jalah lifted the fine shirt of mail, appearing to be smelted from sunlight. It felt familiar, like an old friend. "Your name is Sun Scales," somehow recalling the title of the armor.

The cave went onward, and Jalah followed its course, tugging along Sun Scales. The walls of the cavern widened, growing into a room. However, despite her luminescence, it failed to penetrate the pitch about her. It also grew increasingly chill, so much so, she pulled her robe tighter around her. Then she remembered what her past self had summoned, feeling the very same polluting presence. _Oh by the Dragons..._It was all she could coherently think before an iron vice gripped her throat and shoved her to floor. A ghastly pale girl pressed her body atop hers, wickedly smiling as her shadowy hair wrapped around the former slave's limbs. The demon's solid black eyes looked directly into her own, and she could feel their filthy presence violate her mind.

Jalah screamed.

)"(


	16. The Raid

**The Raid**

_Everything was burnt, from the fields to the homes, including the beasts and the village folk. For the latter, their bodies were horribly mutilated, suffering horrendous tortures before they were given to the flames. He'd seen horrors such as this before, witness to battles at the edge of Creation where soldiers were slaughtered as such to expand the Realm into the madness of the Wyld. But this was not a consequence of touching the churning endless chaos of the Raksha. This was a purposeful defilement of life._

_"Their tracks go into the mountains," a feminine voice surprised him. He turned to see his circlemate, her gold colored face like stone, while her short locks of tied back ruby hair fluttered in the wind. "I'd say they were heavily armed, given the weight of their foot prints, but their departing marks are much lighter. They were speeded away by some sorcery, warded as well."_

_"So, you have no idea who they might be?" He questioned._

_"Well, their leader rode a demon, an agatae." She pointed to a patch of disturbed and long dried mud at one spot, and to other tracks only Essence enhanced senses could detect, "You can see its tracks where it landed, or the patterns its wings left in the dirt. And I'm familiar with their bite; its all over some of the victims."_

_He thought on a plan of attack,"Can you follow them?"_

_"Of course," for a moment, he swore her cold eyes almost rolled at him._

_"Good, do this. I'll have the Lunars scout the rest of the area in case they try something, and I'll be behind you with the rest of our force." His face then filled with righteous wrath,"These bastards will burn for this!"_

)"(

Tonauac snapped awake from the dream, sucking down breath as he realized he was not in the ruins of some village, but in a bed, gazing up at the thatch ceiling of the adobe room. He flung off the rough covers, moving his naked and massively muscled body toward the window, pushing aside the sun bleached drapery to gaze out at the new day. Outside stretched the town of Kerhama, with its dirt roads and clusters of clay brick dwellings; a few structures were formed from stone, such as the thick walled temple-hold at the community's center. It was one of the larger towns in the Anjala Valley - the greenest piece of land anyone could hope to find this far in the South. The mountains that surrounded the land were clearly visible along the horizon, from the towering Heaven Touched range to the north, with their actual snow caps that flowed fresh water into the valley. While to the west rose the smaller and more foreboding Scoured Peaks, aptly named for their baked and lifeless heights. _The same mountains from my dream, except the Scoured were just as white tipped as the Heaven Touched._

"Tona," Yutero called him, his voice full of sleep. The wiry, bronze skinned man stirred from beneath the covers. His kinky blonde hair was braided against his scalp like a Brassite woman's. "Up so soon, why don't you come back to bed?"

The giant turned to the prostitute and smiled, rubbing his chin. Yutero was long a friend, paying him more out of intimate feelings than for trade. He could easily have him for free, but Yutero needed the coin. Tonauac forced even more dinars than usual on him, since he shacked up with the prostitute for the past week. The Madjai felt the need to skip town after giving his former employer a taste of justice - severing Trajos from his manhood and cleansing the Dayia's manor with fire. He was sure no one knew it was him, doing the deed under the cover of Calibration's last moonless night, but just in case he kept a low profile.

"My feet have need to be used. I'll fetch us some breakfast," the Madjai told him, and donned his clothing to leave.

He finished putting his hair up in a topknot as he stepped into the main room of Kerhama's inn and tavern. Mostly other travelers sat on the rugged floors, grouped around tables, eating the establishment's breakfast of tea, and a mix of rice and vegetables wrapped in flat canjeero bread. For a small community in the hinterlands, it received many guests from the caravans that traveled the nearby Flame Road. Most of the patrons either ignored him or tried to hide their looks, a few politely smiled. They all knew who he was, spotting his missing pinkies - the mark of his exile and giver of his title 'Four-Fingers'. Before being chosen, he spent years earning a reputation and fame many Madjai would sell their souls for. Now, it was a inescapable curse, especially if his deed in Brass became known. _I'll find out soon enough, if my 'brothers' arrive for the price on my head._

He went over to the counter, ready to ask for his own breakfast, when his ears picked up a scream. No one else in the tavern seemed to notice, but as Tonauac focused his hearing, he heard further disturbances: galloping hoofs, the twang of arrows, even the crackle of flames, and of course further cries. At this point the sounds alerted the other patrons, and he rushed to the door. Outside, the attackers were announced by fleeing townsfolk and a flight of flaming arrows, before the mounted bandits themselves burst into view. The Madjai went for his 'twins', but he'd left them back at Yutero's room. Cursing his stupidity, he took a subtle battle stance, for he trained his own body into a weapon as well.

Tonauac sprang at the closest one, catching his sword arm as the bandit swung, and with one twisting motion, pulled him from his horse and yanked his sabre free. The Madjai continued to turn on his heels, hacking the blade deeply into another rider's side, sending his lifeless body crashing to the earth. He faced the rest, over half a dozen, and roared as he slashed the air with his stolen bloody weapon, feeling a charge of power as the bandits all met his glare.

)"(

_He slashed the man down. His ganklaive, Divinity's Wrath, broke through the common steel of his lamellar and mail like air, and bit through flesh and bone with the same ease. _

_Finished with that foe, he reared his armored Simhata around, readying his large blade that was an essence powered combination of a flame piece and sword - though stained with blood, the single edge of the weapon shined with the color of sunlight, and was topped by a flame-motiffed barrel of Red Jade that extended into the frame around the ammo cylinder and trigger-hilt. With one blurring swing, he knocked aside several quarrels from from a pair of crossbowmen. Catching his thoughts, his mount then leaped at the assailants, rending one with her claw-hoofs, while crushing the second man's head in her maw. Leaving their corpses, he rode atop the rocky outcropping in the valley, where they'd over taken the raiders._

_Below, his force of elite Terrestrial warriors, burning with the colors of the five elements, returned the favor the well-armed raiders had done to the village. If it wasn't for their own Dragon Blooded leaders and summoned infernal muscle, the murderers would have already been crushed. They fought stubbornly on, trapped, for his circlemate and the Lunars guarded the other passage out of the valley. He would send all their souls screaming back to their masters in Malfeas if he could, but he'd just have to settle for ending their current incarnation._

_Unleashing his anima, he let the golden divine light of his patron announce the charm that scoured and scattered the demons. Then he bellowed, "Flee you cowards! Flee before the retribution of the Unconquered!" His words carried more magic of his station, driving fear into mortal and Exalted foe alike, sending them fleeing after the horrors they let loose to besmirch Creation._

)"(

After screaming the words, Tonauac saw not demon worshipers take flight, but bandits in common clothing and scavenged armor. His mind back in Kerhama, he saw the townsfolk either fighting the flames, tending the wounded, or snatching up their own spears and clubs to give chase to the attackers.

His eyes caught several young children and their mother grieving over a dead man, struck in the throat by an arrow. The Madjai had seen plenty of such scenes in course of his life, but since the Duster village, he couldn't close his heart to it any longer; the casing of flint he'd built over it was cracked and crumbling. Then he remembered the bandit he pulled from the horse, seeing him trying to slip away. Tonauac tripped him and put the point of the sabre to his throat.

"Mercy, mercy," the bandit begged.

The giant yanked the man up by his cloak, bringing their faces close. "Tell me where you bastards hide away and I'll give you a chance to try and escape." The bandit was speechless, so Tonauac growled deeper, "Tell me! It's the best chance you're gonna get, or I'll just turn you over right now."

The bandit muttered out a location - some hills, past Kerhama's fields, near the banks of the Prism River. "I'll take you there myself, please, anything."

The Madjai tossed him down, he wanted nothing more from the murderer. The bandit glanced around, still unnoticed, and fled. Tonauac figured he wouldn't make it far, but cared nothing for the man's fate. Dropping the sabre, he rushed back to the inn.

As he entered Yeturo's room, the prostitute asked, "What happened, I heard screaming?" Tonauac filled him in as he grabbed his gear. "What are you doing?"

Throwing on his buff jacket, Tonauac answered, "I'm going after them."

"Did the town elders hire you already?"

"No."

Before Yeturo could question further, the Madjai was out the door, tightening the straps of his fighting gauntlets and adjusting the huge falchion he had hanging from his back. He hurried to the stables, retrieved his horse, and sped after his querry.

He came upon the hills, full of oddly colored scrub and strangely shaped, stunted trees. The source of the vegetation's oddity flowed just beyond it, from the waters of the Prism, shifting in colors like a rainbow. It was said to be a legacy of the Great Fae Invasion, in the wake of the Contagion, which nearly unmade Creation and ended the Old Realm. It was the perfect location for a hideout, being the river was rightly considered cursed, for its spirit was driven mad by the Wyld corruption.

He left his mount behind and swept in as quietly as possible. Tonauac could make out movement, but wanted more information before he stepped in closer. With this desire, his hearing expanded and the giant could make out probably less than a dozen men, scrambling to unmake their camp in the gully between the rises. He readied his flame pieces and whispered a prayer to both Ahlat and the Unconquered Sun, then rose to attack.

Creeping closer, Tonauac rushed down a hill and dispatched the first bandit with a mighty blow of his steel coated fist, smashing his face into ruin. While the raiders were still surprised, he managed to drop another pair, launching a jaw shattering spin kick, and rearing up on the other with a blast of Flare. It was a risky shot, but he felt the tingle of energy as the Solar's inner magic guided his aim, leaving the bandit a bonfire that scattered the gang's horses as he ran frightfully about. The Madjai charged another, who managed to draw his sword. Tonauac knocked a blow aside with one gauntlet and smashed down his other armored fist onto his head, feeling the man's skull and teeth crack. The bandit crashed to the dirt, completely stunned, while two of his compatriots launched their own charge. Tonauac didn't wait, freeing his falchion, he rushed into the dance of steel. Some instinct took over the Sun Chosen, and right before they were in arms length, he leaped up, kicking out both his feet into the surprised raiders' chests. Landing on his back, the strange intuition moved his body into a quick roll, leaving him on his feet and ready to pounce.

While the two he kicked over struggled to recover, a bandit coming close to the Madjai's size entered the fray. Their steel kissed several times, until they locked swords, challenging each others' strength to see who would be pushed back first. Tonauac broke, deliberately dropping his blade, snapping around his huge opponent, firing Ruby at another bandit who was notching an arrow. Exposing himself with that attack, the large raider managed to get good hack at Tonauac's shoulder, sheering through his buff jacket and into his flesh. Grinding his teeth from both pain and anger, the Madjai snatched his opponent's sword arm, yanking it down and spinning on his heels, he sailed an elbow right into the bandit's face. The hulking man nearly collapsed, grabbing his bloody mess of a nose. Using the same momentum from his previous attack, Toanauac easily freed his assailant's blade, and continued shifting about to bury the sabre deep between his neck and shoulder.

The rest fled, including the pair he drop kicked, either on feet or any horse they managed to grab. Tonauac decided to let them go, justice was done as far as he was concerned. Delivering mercy blows to the big bandit and the one whose skull he cracked clean open, he set their bodies aflame beside the other dead, whispering a prayer for their souls.

The battle did leave one prisoner, and after binding his wounds with a piece of the cleanest cloth he could find, Tonauac forced the bandit, whose teeth and nose he shattered at the opening of the fight, to his feet. Wrists bound, he was ready to be delivered back to the townsfolk of Kerhama.

"Pthease," he gargled, spitting up blood and teeth.

"Shut up," Tonauac Cooley ordered.

"I can pay you."

"You can pay me in your blood when they hang your ass."

The bandit fell to his knees, "No, I'm not justh some bandith you idioth. I'm a sworn sthword to Dayia Shebith."

Tonauac roughly pulled him up, "I take it you left out, you use to be."

"No, we were only dithguising ourselves, all of us stherve him," he proclaimed to the Madjai's annoyance. "We're punithing that pig, Aryamani!"

Tonauac spun him around, unleashing fury into his words, "Even if that's true, you're punishing the Dayia of this place by trying to burn a town down, disguised as damn bandits?"

His growing voice unnerved the bandit-soldier into silence. The fire of his temper was stroked though, and the giant grabbed the man by the throat, pinching his metal coated fingers harder and harder into his dusky flesh.

)"(

_"Where is she!" He bellowed at the raider._

_The wounded woman, with flaming red hair and scarlet touched skin, gazed up at him, eyes wide with terror. She and her ilk turned out to be more than just Yozi worshiping bandits, but soldiers of a sister, a fellow Solar. The thought of her treason sickened him beyond anything he'd ever felt. When she did not answer, he slapped the spent Terrestrial, splattering more of her blood to the dirt._

_"You will tell me!" His anima flared with his anger, mimicking the golden flames that sprouted up the length of Divinity's Wrath. He snatched out the traitor's arm, and in a blink of an eye, severed the limb clean, sending the Dragon Blooded into howls of pain. "Tell me!"_

_A clawed and silver furred hand grabbed his shoulder, "You're going to kill her!"_

_He shrugged him off, facing the Lunar in his hybrid form of human and animal - a hound-man swaddled in silvery chain and dark cloths, with twin curving daiklaves hanging from their scabbards on his back. "I don't care, Tamuz!"_

_"You should Scour, if we ever want to find her!" He literally growled back._

_"Pakina," he called to his circlemate. "She's yours to get the answers out of."_

_She walked over to the grimacing Terrestrial. The Solar's face showed no pleasure at the task she was going to undertake, but he knew she would not flinch from it. Gripping her armor, she dragged the pleading Dragon Blooded away to where she forced answers out of the others._

)"(

Tonauac came to. Realizing his captive was nearly unconscious, he dropped the bandit, who choked and fought to breathe. The Madjai blinked, fighting to recover as well. What he saw quite frankly disturbed him, but he had no time to ponder over some memory of eons past.

Looming over the disguised soldier, he narrowed his eyes, "So if you're speaking the truth, you won't mind bringing me to your lord, huh?"

)"(


	17. First Step

**First Step**

Ryana approached the shattered ruins of Chiaroscuro's Old City. The glass towers of the First Age reached up to the night shrouded heavens, at least the ones who's heights hadn't been broken by calamity and time. The section she gazed upon had a darker cast to it; the brilliant colors of the structures were muted, and she could feel the wrongness of it all. Still, Ryana kissed her charm necklace and stepped over the carved line, filled with salt, leaving the lands of the living and entering the Shadowlands of the dead. Since she was a child, the Blade had been warned not to cross those areas marked off by the warding substance. They'd been filled by the great Kha-Khan, when he led the Delzhan horde to conquer the city. The Heaven sent warlord meant to make Chiaroscuro into the most prized possession of the empire he carved out; and he didn't want the restless dead, which infested the City of Glass like maggots in a rancid corpse, to spoil its resurrection.

The young woman crept along the cracked streets, which would have been vermilion in Creation, but were more of a blood red in the Underworld. The Bishah dressed herself appropriately, all in black - including the leather of her belt that held her many knives, and the bracers where the blades of her tiger claws extended from. She also shrouded her face beneath a wrapping of cloth, exposing only a slit for her hazel eyes.

Heading several blocks deeper, keeping her back to the walls and never lingering far from a shadow, Ryana came upon her targets. Around a corner stalked what looked to be a man and a woman, but their skin was decayed, pulled taut against visibly withered muscle and blackened bone. The green tinge to their necrotic flesh marked their deaths coming from the Great Contagion. Dying horribly, bodies left to rot without burial, their souls rose full of outrage and madness, striking out at anything living. They were hungry ghosts.

Ryana called on the magics of the Anathema that she now was, making her unnoticeable to the ghosts, and allowing her to come about them on the rear. She readied her tiger claws and pounced, leaping at the male like a great cat, slashing her claws through the maddened soul. The blow carried with it more of her power, shown by the trails of blue-gold energy that accompanied her blades as they ripped the creature nearly in half. He fell, disintegrating into smoke. The female roared, rearing her bloody jaws around to take a bite at Ryana. She hopped back, landing on all fours, ready to leap again. And the Blade did, launching an up-swinging kick into the ghost's jaw, using the momentum to fully flip her body in mid air, landing back in her original position. Before the spirit could recover, Ryana flew at her again, rending open her chest with both claws. Like her partner, she collapsed into quickly departing wisps.

Her ear picked up running steps, turning just in time to see another hungry ghost rushing at her. He howled with a half rotted face, reaching for Ryana with his fleshless fingers. Even with her training and skill, she never would have been able to avoid the charge, but again her powers saved her, propelling her twisting dodge with uncanny speed. With the ghost passing her, the Blade tripped the frenzied spirit, dropped a knee into his back, and drove her blades into his skull. The body dissipated, drifting off like the rest to where ever their remains lied, ready to reform whole at the next Sunset. She was sure this was the second time she dispatched the last one.

Hearing more foot steps, she did a running jump onto a half-broken balcony of a nearby tower. The Blade made sure the room, with only the barest of remains from whatever furniture adorned it once, was empty. Then she dared a peek back outside, spotting more hungry ghosts hunting for the source of the disturbance, swelling to over a dozen. Reclining into the darkness, she rested, meditating while her body refilled itself with the energy she expended in the fight. Maybe she would tryout her powers on more of the ghosts, once they scattered again, or just wait until the sun rose and cross back into the living lands; Ryana wasn't sure if it was true or not, but she'd heard if you left a Shadowland at night - where Creation and the Underworld intertwined - one would travel fully into the realm of the dead. Trying to decide, she closed her eyes...

)"(

_The Sun beat hot near the lands singed by the Elemental Pole of Fire, leaving it nothing but sand and rock. She couldn't remember the last time she saw anything living, whether beast or vegetation. But she needed no food or water, letting Essence alone sustain her body._

_She found it beautiful out in the wilds. A lonely respite from all the complications of the Realm, from the politics, from the troubles. She had only the gods, with their celestial representations in the heavens, to give her company. Here she would find the peace she craved._

_She let the movement of the Kata take over her limbs, emptying her mind of all but the fluid stances, strikes, and flips of the styles she mastered over the centuries of her exaltation. Her hands forming into claws, slashing the air in the manner of her favored Tiger Style. She would need her skill for the forth coming task, a personal form of flagellation to redeem herself in the eyes of the Unconquered Sun._

)"(

Ryana opened her eyes to the empty room, except it was now lit by the pale Sunlight that manged to squeeze into the gloom of the Shadowland. The Blade found herself in a combat stance, fingers formed into an imitation of talons like in her vision. _Five-curses, what am I doing?_

She relaxed her body and rubbed her eyes to recover from the vividness of it. Ever since the Anathema spirit had entered her heart, these sights of another time and another life struck her. Awake or asleep they would come, sometimes acting them out, while on other occasions she'd find herself in strange locations. Thankfully, Ryana had not drawn any attention to herself. But she sought out answers, consulting savants and sneaking into libraries to uncover what she could on 'her kind'. Unfortunately, her hunt bore few fruits. Most writings of Anathema were lost like a great deal of knowledge on the First Age, and what little there was, was often confined to the language of the Old Realm, of which Ryana was illiterate in. Then there were the censorship efforts enacted by the Immaculates to consider. All she could say, with any reliability, was the Anathema called themselves Solars, Chosen of some Sun god not named Initi; and they called her caste Night, the Hidden Suns and Daggers of Heaven. It contradicted very much the stories whispered to her as a child, or the teachings of the Immaculate monks, who would call her one of the Wretched. But Ryana did not whither and die upon Sunrise, or feel the call of the Yozis, or wish to stalk and kill innocents, even when she was overcome by the visions. And if these crimes were committed by these other lives she saw through, there was no sign of it there either. From rumor though, the Bishah learned she was not the only one, but a flooding of Anathema stories were uttered from many a lip in the years since the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress. _Thankfully, my name isn't in one of them, and by the gods' graces it'll remain that way._

Ryana grabbed her hemp shoulder bag, and exchanged her blacks for some more earthy hued street clothes (which were still largely dark in color), also hiding her tiger claws within. Then she called on her anima, but instead of it blazing with all its glory, it wrapped around her, making her melt into the shadows. Shrouded, she slipped back into Creation, releasing it once she was a safe distance away. Whatever one might say about her being an Anathema or Solar or whatever, the thief couldn't deny how it increased her already impressive talents a hundred fold.

As the season's rains drizzled again, the Blade made her way through the edge neighborhoods, labyrinths of slums that pressed and mingled amongst the Old City. These were Ryana's stomping grounds while growing up in the City of Glass. Peering out from the hood of her open tunic, she passed the hovels of two to three story buildings, divided into apartments and store fronts, next to shacks of scavenged stone and brick. The lucky, and usually wealthier, managed to gain a home in the lower accessible levels of the glass towers; but this 'upper class' was universally composed of the city's crime lords. Other Blades, and their gangs of toughs, child thieves, and prostitutes all gave her gestures of greeting. The scant few shop keepers and the common edger - who made their living as laborers elsewhere in the city or scrounged the ruins for bits of glass - glanced away fearfully from Ryana.

She turned a corner, coming to her own tenement, climbing the outside adobe steps to the top story. Her two-room apartment was simply furnished, with even her bed just a hammock aside the window. Most of her ill gotten Jade went into her pantry, where she retrieved a loaf of pita bread and a wedge of cheese, adding the rest of her grapes to the breakfast. Ryana next lit the charcoal in her brazier stove, aside her bedding, to boil water for tea.

Before sitting down to eat, the Blade went to her altar. It was her other main investment, especially since she became an Anathema. It lied on a low table of polished wood, covered by a cloth with embroidered images of the five Elemental Dragons, each biting the others' tail in a circle. Within this stitched image was a palm-sized ceramic sculpting of the household spirit, a small knife for Kemu, and representations of her ancestors. The later took the form of the two halves of her family. Her mother's Delzhan ancestors were symbolized by a turquoise carving of a horse; a wooden lemur's head was for her father's people - his amulet, which was cut from the trees of his homeland in the Eastern direction of Creation. She also added a small pouch of Sahar's ashes to pray over. For each, Ryana made an offering of food and incense, setting both aflame with a stick from her stove. _All the gods, my ancestors, I make this offering to you, to keep my mind free of any taint, to allow me to use these powers for the good of your living descendants. I know it's a meager offering, but I will make more, many more worthy of your glory_, she prayed.

)"(

_The land was nothing but baked rock, fresh obsidian and cracked earth, simmering with Creation's blood, which boiled just below the surface. These were lands freshly won by the Realm from the Third Arching Flame Campaign. She remembered the battles fifty years past, fighting side by side with her circle in that brutal two decade war. Yet here they still sat, barely cleansed of the Wyld's taint._

_Their neglect stirred her own fire. She'd fought hard for them. Her reasoning had little to do with her duty to the Deliberative, but to avenge her husband. The marriage to Avalu had been largely ceremonial, but she'd grown close to the Lunar over the centuries. Battle partners. He'd died by Fae trickery in the Second Arching Flame Campaign, and she avenged him a hundred times over. Her mind recalled vividly the infiltrations into the fortress-domains of the Formless Ones, felling the creatures before thousands died in sieges against air of acidic smoke, rivers of flame, and titans of melted gems - and those were the most comprehensible of the insanity that assaulted them._

_The Unconquered Sun beat heavily upon her as she dropped to her knees. The obsidian shards shattered against her gold colored skin, and felt nothing of the ember hot earth beneath. She prayed to him, to the one who exalted her, broke the chains of her mortal life, and made her a champion of Creation. She had wasted her gifts, abused them; and at that moment she asked for forgiveness, begged for the strength to atone for her trespass._

_Her Essence soaked senses detected movement, and she spun around to face a spirit. The elephant-sized being was formed into the shape of a scorpion, with a body of glowing hot plates, and dripping magma from its obsidian spiked stinger. The guardian spirit radiated aggressiveness, sending it out with several lightning fast strikes and jabs with its pincers. She danced around all the blows, finally leaping back to create some distance, and let her anima flare._

_"I'm Chosen of the Sun, back down!" She commanded the little god._

_Its words sounded like flaming hot metal being dipped into water, "Fae trick! Off my land!"_

_Its nature was obviously warped from its lonely vigil, and probably a bit Wyld-touched too. She drew her pair of Sky-Cutters - curved blades that resembled scimitar sized kukuris, gradually widening from a simple handle - and let the Orichalcum in 'The Wings of Retribution' shine in her patron's brilliance..._

)"(

The vision cleared, but part of it played out in reality, as the Blade heard a soft footstep behind her, coming from her sleeping room. Without thinking, her fingers plucked a knife from her belt and sent it soaring through the sheet that separated the two spaces of her quarters. The intruder gave off a pained curse, before revealing himself as the Malek of the Bishah.

"Now I know never to disturb you at prayer," the head of her order nursed his grazed shoulder.

Ryana stood straight and bowed her head, "I'm sorry, Malek."

"I'll live. Good strike, I'm lucky your aim was off," he smiled, but his gray eyes hid a little fear and annoyance.

_Lucky I was reliving another life, or that blade would have been in your heart...like Sahar..._She looked away, putting out her incense to hide the sadness that bit at her heart. "Would you like some tea?"

He politely agreed, and the two criminals sat on pillows around her low serving-table. Sipping tea, they shared her breakfast.

"So what do I owe the honor of you gracing my home?" The female Bishah began.

He swallowed a grape. "To give you my personal condolences for Sahar. I know the job was rushed..."

"No...I understand." Part of Ryana did blame the Malek for the all the tragedies of that night, but in the end it was just a way to cop out for her own crime. "Thanks for coming to tell me this...but I think you have a lot more to say."

She was no fool. Sahar was a good Blade, but he wasn't special enough to warrant this kind of attention. It was only a matter of time for a Bishah to be killed or captured; their ashes, if they could be recovered, entombed in the Great Well of Kemu's honored, beneath the streets of Chiaroscuro. The darkened chamber was where she placed Sahar's bodily remains, on a niche in in the wall amongst countless other brothers and sisters who'd fallen in the service of the city's true spiritual master. She'd received all her sympathies there, from the common membership to the conclave. _So why are you here?_

The head Blade chuckled. "You're always straight to the point, girl," Sahar had said he didn't care much that. He considered Ryana 'disrespectful', which all went back to the lack of a member between her legs. _At least he supported me becoming a full Blade. _"I have a task for you."

Ryana nodded, drinking her hot beverage.

The Malek continued, "You heard of Behnam Orkhan?"

"Yeah...he's my clan's khan's cousin," the younger blade answered. Her mother's people, despite divisions of clan and tribe, were all intermarried. Tens of thousands could claim to be nobles in Chiaroscuro alone, varied in their degrees of shared blood with the Tri-Khan of all Delzhan. Ryana wouldn't be surprised if she had some in her own veins, not that it mattered in alleviating her family's poverty.

The Malek's eyebrow raised, lowering his tea, "_You're_ clan?"

"Old habit, you know my mother's blood means nothing to me." Her statement rang true for the most part. Her Delzhan parent was largely disowned by her clan for running off with an outland sailor, even though over half of Chiaroscuro's population were descended from such immigrants. Even after he'd joined the city guard and took in his father-in-law, who was maimed in a duel, the marriage was never accepted. In law, Ryana might qualify for a Delzhan, but in practice she and her siblings were little better than outcasts. "The Bishah are my clan now."

"Good. But it's helpful you still know something of the inner workings of the shasu. It'll make this job go much faster and smoother." He took another sip of tea before explaining, "I need the orkhan's favor, and his lover will be the leverage. And unlike the last job, you'll have plenty of time to research your target, the rest of this Moon's Turning in fact. You'll get one full share of the ransom as well."

So that's why you picked me, oh well. "Sounds good, it's an honor, Malek," Ryana smiled with her agreement. A full share from a noble's ransom would further her goals considerably. _The first step, Dad. Your sacrifice won't be in vain, and we won't need those shasu bastard's acceptance either._

)"(

_"These are their names, Pakina," her circlemate said to her, brushing aside a lock of her golden curls._

_The robed slave - his skin and hair sheet white from the cursed bloodline bred by another Solar sister - handed over the sheet of hemp paper, containing the list of targets. She took it, glancing them over, committing them to memory with ease._

_"These are the traitors, the ones who disrupted the order." She sat on her throne of Jade and the Unconquered's chosen material, in a chamber of diamond, overlooking the whole of a city. Just beyond the horizon, the ground dropped into the vastness of the sky. "An example must be made. They must all know to never challenge the gods; that the unrighteous and those who offer them succor are never safe!"_

_"It will be done, Isharia," She said coldly, calling on a flicker of Essence to reduce the sheet to ash, leaving the cinders behind to begin her mission._

)"(


	18. Scarlet Whisper

**Scarlet Whisper**

Fatima gazed out the window, peering up to the sky to see the odd celestial event. The Moon had crossed over the Sun, casting a shadow over Creation. She'd seen these 'eclipses' before, several occurring in the past five years. _Since the Empress vanished, announcing our era of uncertainty_, Fatima thought, leaving herself a mental reminder to save those words for a poem. She'd heard some equate it to divine incest, being that Initi was brother to Glenti the Night Eye - the greedy Moon goddess who swelled so much from her wants she had the vomit them out until she was nothing but an unseen spec, mimicking the shifting faces of her heavenly body.

Resting her elbows on the sill, the young woman stood slightly below average height, just a finger-length or so, with skinny limbs, and a pale complexion, colored by freckled cheeks. Her light skin was a legacy of her ancestors from the North. The Rauors were descendants of slaves who escaped to Paragon, reaching the Perfect to swear allegiance and be forever free of the slaver's chains.

"Here you go, Fatima," and Naomi handed her the gauzy, azure head scarf. The olive skinned servant was a woman of Fatima's age, a few years past twenty. Her black hair was smoothed back into a braid, descending down her back, covered by the drab gray dress of a commoner. "And you shouldn't let your eyes linger on that perverted sight, my lady."

"I agree," her sister Anisa, added, heading toward the door. The adolescent resembled her elder sister very much, same skintone and bright red hair. She had her locks cut to the shoulder, and swept the bangs to the side of her face, where they were twisted into numerous thin braids, bedecked by glass beads; while her body was covered in a ruby stola, the trim yellow and white. "Well come on Fatima, we've kept everyone long enough, and I'm anxious to see your play."

Fatima gave her sister a severe look.

"Oh yes, it was actually the mysterious _Scarlet Whisper_," Anisa finished with a giggle.

Her sister was the only one who knew Fatima's secret (Naomi also knew, but was sworn to secrecy, with the power of the Perfect's mark ensuring she would always obey a magistrate). Despite her skill, especially after her years of being educated at the Ministry of Art's academy, she desired none of the fame that came with scripting plays and penning poetry. Her motivation was the pure joy of creating. The poet also intensely disliked the shallowness and vanity games of Paragon's salons; all backbiting vultures, who shouted false praises and whispered jealous poisons. Becoming the Scarlet Whisper was her outlet, to release her art to the city at large without joining the snobbish dance of the art scene - and this enigmatic author was making quite a name for his or herself. As far as everyone else was concerned, Fatima was just a newly minted graduate, who worked a minor position at the Ministry of Arts.

Shaking her head at Anisa, she turned back for one more look at the sky. She felt no foulness from the joining of the heavenly bodies, but was drawn to it, finding it quite splendid. For some reason though, the poet was reminded of the Anathema that had appeared amongst the Abisi-citizens, just prior to Calibration. _Now that was an ill event, for an ill time._ The thought of the demon made her think maybe Anisa and Naomi were right about the eclipse, and turned from the window.

The faint light the opening let in though, continued to shine on her sizable and finely furnished sleeping space, particularly the polished writing desk - etched with prayers for the spirits of creativity, and strewn with pages of her work. Lingering on those papyrus sheets, the magistrate desired to put her thoughts down, but the fear of ink stains on the expensive material of the scarf gave her second thoughts. So she made a headband out of it, tying up her own medium hair. The cloth matched her white trimmed stola, and the icy blue shawl she also wrapped around her, warming her arms in the cool weather of the season.

Down a flight of stairs, in the marble and basalt home, the sisters entered the central hall, where their parents and other siblings waited around the family altar.

"There's my missing daughters," their father greeted with amusement. It was from him they inherited their pale skin and fiery hair, except his own had gone silver with age, which he grew long enough to pull back into a brief oiled ponytail. The solidly built landowner and bureaucrat for the Ministry of Agriculture was dressed in robes of blue and red. "I swear that private room I gave you, swallows you up some days."

"Yeah, I don't understand why you two took so long," bratty Galene, the youngest sister, just beginning to grow into a woman's body, declared, "especially you Fatima, all you care about is writing. I'm surprised your makeup isn't smeared with ink." She smoothed her own yellow stola, head held arrogantly high, surrounded by her long hair of ribboned curls.

"Quiet, Galene," Anisa chided her younger sibling. "You should be following your eldest sister's example, minding your studies instead of the attention of boys, or you'll lose your color."

She referred to the dress code of Paragon's classes - the common citizens were to wear gray, with only the magistrates allowed color in their attire. However, the position of the elites was not hereditary, only earned through passing the Perfect's rigorous examinations; and though a magistrate's children were given leave to dress as their parents, it was not guaranteed once they came of age, and Galene's time of testing would be coming this year. The Rauors had earned their positions, part of Paragon's promise to its citizens, a rarity in the Age of Sorrows.

The youngest child, little Philo, not even a decade old, tugged at Galene's hair, "Yeah, leave Fatima alone!" His shaggy hair was oiled out of his face, and wore robes of his size, similar to their male parent.

The two youngest siblings began a shouting match that was ended by their mother. "Enough," she demanded loudly. It was from her, Fatima received her own slight frame and her big, penetrating, fawn eyes. The resemblance ended there, for the female parent's skin was the common tan of the Southern coast, and her thick hair a wavy dark blonde - which was bound up in a bun and braids, supported by a wrapping of gold ribbon. Her clothing consisted of white robes, sewn about with gold thread calligraphy; the dress of the Perfect's priests, who guided the masses to always strive in keeping Paragon's order and glory, emulating their tireless and Heavenly blessed leader. The outfit was completed by the golden orb about her neck, pressed with the eternal eye of their nation and ruler. "Brothers and sisters should not talk to each other this way, especially you Galene. Apologize to your sister at once."

After Galene said she was sorry to Fatima, her mother faced the younger magistrate. "Though for all the time you do spend at that writing desk of yours, we've yet to see one of your works. You need to open yourself up. The Perfect knows what's in your heart, my sweet, why not open it to the whole of Paragon?"

The poet had to lower her eyes to hide the mischievousness that filled them. Shrugging as she glanced to Anisa, who hinted a smile at her.

Their father added, "Yes, Fatima will live with her heart open _eventually_." His gaze fell on her, silently saying it wasn't a suggestion, before finishing, "We should get going. We're going to be late."

The Rauors departed their home, taking a carriage to Paragon's amphitheater. The half-moon shaped structure rose high on the edge of the central magistrate and the merchant districts. The day's show was suppose to have been quite a draw, and a treat. The priests had assured attendees the skies would remain clear of rain for the outdoor show, plus a famous troupe of performers, the Bahata, had come. Fatima was eager to see the play, since she was the one who wrote it; she'd sold it, under her pen name, to the troupe's leader, Haropen, in hopes to spread her works afar. It was the dream of any playwright for their works to live beyond them, rising to immortal classics performed far from their homes. Sadly, the eclipse had spoiled the debut, leaving large gaps in the theater's seating.

Taking their seats at forefront, in the canvas covered sections of plush benches, Fatima's oldest brother approached. Livian was in his officer's uniform - consisting of a pitch colored, knee length cassock and white pants. This was joined with a balteus at his waist, adorned with Paragon's symbol. He was built like his father, but the only one of Rauor children to inherit the darker complexion and yellow hair of their mother - which he let grow shaggy, spiking it up in a style popular with youthful male magistrates.

He greeted his kin, taking a seat aside his elder sister, "So Fatima, still trying to write that masterpiece? I was wondering what the delay was."

"Leave her be," Anisa came to her defense.

"I'm trying to encourage her Anisa," he shot back, then refaced his other sibling, "From what little I saw of that play of yours, you could have won the Calibration Contest, it was quite hilarious, sister."  
_How little you know, brother._ She had won the annual competition the Perfect held, to come up with the best comedy that mocked Paragon's ruler. Scarlet Whisper was pronounced the winner, and a letter from the man himself was quietly sent to her, telling Fatima her secret was safe with him. The correspondence included a commission for a poem to describe the glories and superiority of their city. A request she gladly undertook, hoping to have it read to him by the Moon turning's end. _I can't believe he loved it, and wants more. I'm blessed._

"Maybe this year, Livian," she finally spoke, again avoiding a gaze to hide her own amusement.

Anisa shooed him off, "You should go entertain your bride-to-be."

Livian rolled his eyes, and left his sisters to exchange pleasantries with their parents, talking of his up coming marriage with a daughter of the Mathius family. The poet took a glance at the other magistrates, who sat down the row. Her parents were also negotiating her own betrothal to their oldest son, seeing the dark haired man with their blood's round and full face smiling at her. She politely returned it, and quickly looked away. Fatima had little interest in him, a rising minister in finance, who bored her with his talk of counting Jade and silver.

Anisa disrupted her melancholy over her future marriage, "It's a good thing Livian was called out to help guard against that Anathema, or he'd have seen your play."

"I know," She whispered back with much relief.

Livian started his way back to the Mathiuses, pausing to give Fatima a humorous expression. "I'll tell Kalthun you send your warmest regards."

She glared at her brother, while Anisa shoved him off with a curse.

Music sprang to life from the chorus at the edge of the stone tiled stage, calling the crowd's attention. Haropen stepped out, a fat man from the lands of Varang, brown skinned with dark brunette hair strung up in a topknot, adorned with beads and feathers. He wore fancy clothes, with strange designs and color coordinations that marked his caste, which Varagians rigidly organized their society into.

With his foreign accented speech, he announced, "Good people of Paragon, the most virtuous of cities, the most hospitable of nations, I humbly welcome you to our performance." He pointed to the sky, "I know some would call this an evil sigh, this joining of the Sun and Moon, but I would call it a test of our faith. So let us make our offering to Belit, and begin your entertainment!"

Haropen stepped over to the small, bronze statue of the Southern spirit of entertainment, positioned at the center of the chorus space. 'The Dancer of Flames', with her mane of feather strewn hair and flowing wrap dress, was given fire, struck from the combustibles in the iron bowl below her depiction. A song of prayer was taken up by the chorus, asking Belit to bless their performance, dedicating it to her. Fatima gave her own silent devotion to the little god, hoping her play was as well liked as her Calibration one.

The song dying down, Haropen spoke again, "And now I present you with a new piece, a tragedy born of love, the tale of Lonely Voice and Zibaru."

The young magistrate couldn't hide her smile, with the title of her play said aloud. It was an adaption of an old Northern story, told to her by her grandmother. The original tale was about a young shepherd, lonely and sad with the death of his family from starvation. He only had his lovely voice, which awoke an ice spirit of the mountains. The spirit fell in love with the shepherd's songs, and began an affair with the mortal, heating her heart and keeping the snows tolerable that winter. This angered his village's shaman, who felt the boy would usurp his position, and had him stoned to death. The ice spirit, angered and saddened, buried the village forever in ice, forcing the survivors to relocate, becoming Fatima's ancestors. As for the spirit and the body of the boy, the little god took his dying breath and had it sing his song over and over upon the wind that blew through the grounds of the deserted village, becoming the Singing Hills. Fatima's version told of a Southern shepherd, who fell in love with the mad spirit of the Prism River of Brassite lands, leading to the offending village being drowned instead; so the Paragonese writer not only moved its locale, but twisted it into anti-Brassite propaganda. She hoped this would please the audience of her fellow citizens, maybe even reach the ears of the Perfect.

"It is a play by my own hand," the leader of the Bahata's words knocked the wind from Fatima's lungs. "An offering to the great and noble people of Paragon, to show what jackals the folk of Brass are."

Her shock quickly flared into outrage, failing to go unnoticed by her sister. "Oh, Fatima..."

"I...I know. I'll be back" She stood, drawing questions from her parents, which were dismissed by a lie about paying a visit to the Mathiuses. After insisting Anisa stay, the poet headed off, slipping around to get back stage. _That whore's son has some explaining to do! _Fatima thought about the man who stole her work, grinding her teeth, fighting back tears.

A guard blocked her way to the back of the two story, castle-like stage. The Varangian was of the typical muscular type demanded of a sentinel, long cinnamon curls bound out of his face, dressed in red and black, with a cudgel tucked into his striped white and crimson waist sash. "This is for performers only."

Fatima let her gaze stab into him, "Tell Haropen, the Scarlet Whisper wishes to see him."

"Why should I bother?"

"Because I'll cry rape if you don't."

Snorting with irritation, the guard complied. A short wait later, he returned to escort her within. Past the readying performers, who undertook final practices of their dance moves and lines, throwing on their costumes and hunting down props, was Haropen's private quarters. He waited in a small room, simply furnished for the use of visitors such as himself.

"Let me guess, you're upset I claimed your play," the head of the Bahata stated with boredom.

"That describes the least of what I'm feeling, you shasu thief," Fatima snapped back.

The Varagian smiled. "Prove it girl. And let's not forget your real identity will be exposed in the process." He shrugged, stepping close enough to smell a spicy meal off his breath, "I don't have a clue or a care why you hide yourself, but I'm sure you want to keep whispers being said about who you really are."

Fatima meant to only think it, but the words escaped her mouth, "You insolent bastard!" She also couldn't believe how she slapped him across his chubby face.

His terrified expression was also quite a surprise, in addition to the guard backing into a corner while soiling his pants. She then noticed the room was suddenly brighter, like a window at high-Sun was somehow flung open. Fatima didn't care, she was filled with an overwhelming righteousness, glad this thief, this vermin crawled at her wrath. "I demand you swear right now, to speak of your sin. Go to the stage and confess it all, you worm!"

"Oh by the gods, I'll do anything," Haropen pleaded, falling on his knees. "Please, just don't take my soul."

Some urge made her thrust her hand forward, while her voice was filled with long remembered words, but somehow not her own, "Swear to do this bidding by the power of the Unconquered Sun."

He took her hand, even kissing it, vowing to do as she commanded for his life. The strange light flared brighter, and some sense returned to her. Seeing the Varangian still touching his lips to her fingers, made her pull back. "Ken-Metarma's breath...", placing her confusion at the feet of one of the gods of sandstorms, as many Southerners did.

Fatima then caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, seeing the brilliance originated off her. And most shocking, was the brand of light on her forehead, a small golden disk surrounded by a ring. _It can't be, by the Perfect, it can't be..._

)"(


	19. Reunion

**Reunion**

Thanks to Bright Hawk, and the same magic he killed Cisnero and his men with, his flurry of arrows flew farther and truer than Wind Fire could ever imagine, felling the small patrol of mounted Paragonese soldiers. Only one of the four managed to get his horse sped up before a shaft pierced his back. Riding up to him, he slit the dying soldier's throat, a youth himself no older than the Abisi. And though he'd rather piss on their remains, with the memory of Topaz and Storm still strong in his mind, he laid them out respectfully to keep their ghosts from rising, half-mumbling a prayer for their souls.

His brief funeral rite complete, Wind Fire finished his business with them by stripping their horses of their saddles and letting the animals run wild, hoping they'd find their way to his people to be claimed as strays. He also took a uniform from one of the dead, pulling on his shirt of chainmail and helmet; he concealed his own gear in a saddle bag, taking care to wrap Bright Hawk in his robe, knowing such a weapon would give him away faster than his tribal markings or accent.

He continued his grim and determined journey to Paragon, already penetrating the patrols of the Three Fires in the hinterlands and onto the second layer of the Perfect's own military, reaching the fields and villas of the plantations. With the disguise of a cavalryman, he was certain he could at least reach the gates of the tyrant's mansion, and his powers would complete the rest. Wind Fire had no care if he emerged from this alive, just as long the Perfect's blood was on his hands before going off to his ancestors.

Taking in a view of the heavens, he hoped the eclipse, or whatever one called the joining of the Night Eye to her descending brother, was sign of fortune and not the perversion others claimed. _Maybe Initi and Glenti are just dancing together, like me and Topaz did as kids. I thought being a Forsaken was a curse once, so maybe this eclipse will aid me as well._ Arriving at the gates, he could at least say the celestial union shadowed his face to the guards.

"I have a message for the Perfect," Wind Fire faked his best Paragonese accent. He knew it was atrocious, but it wasn't out of the ordinary to hear a foreign ring to a citizen's tongue. Creation had no lack of fools who sold their souls to the ageless tyrant for the illusion of safety.

The guard's eyes bulged at the importance of the supposed message, and moved aside to let him pass. Prodding Northern Breeze to ride on, the Abisi only reached a few arms inside before an authoritative voice cried out, "Close the gates at once!"

Wind Fire turned to see an older officer ride up, dressed for battle and leading a scale of equally armed infantry; for many a military mimicked the Realm's infamous legions, naming their units after a Dragon's parts. He called for all but a pair of the soldiers to follow him immediately, including the Hahjab.

"But I have to deliver..." he tried to argue.

"Forget that," the clean shaven commander snapped. "I have orders directly from the senior command for this. You're with me, so move it."

With a low growl, the Abisi went along, planning on sneaking off at the first opportunity. He figured whatever was going on might play to his advantage as well. Though his heart froze when he heard whispers discussing rumors of an Anathema. _How'd they know I was coming?_  
Wind Fire slowed his horse, hoping to back off from the contingent, when another soldier quietly corrected, "No you idiot, it's not that Abisi dog, but another one, if you can believe it."

"Yeddim-shit!" A man with a broken nose proclaimed too loudly, returning to a hush tone, "How can there be two Anathema? It has to be that Abisi."

They argued until an officer turned back, ordering silence.

Wind Fire couldn't believe his ears. _Another of my 'kind'?_ It was a strange thought to him, one he never truly pondered over. _It makes sense, especially with all the rumors and my own memories, but I never expected another to be possessed...or Chosen here. _The Abisi's mind returned to his plaguing flashbacks, which finally went silent after reclaiming Bright Hawk. Whether they were demons or a champions (and was very much leaning toward the later since his visit to the manse), he didn't want to leave a 'comrade' to the Paragonese's mercy, but also knew this was truly the best distraction he could hope for. Then again, there was no way he could slip away without arousing questions, and was along for the ride, willingly or not. _I'm sure I can slip away once the fighting starts. I'll plant a few arrows in their backs for my 'kin', and then I'm onto my own task._ Wind Fire's commitment was sealed with a reminisce of his siblings dying in his arms, Cisnero kicking his aunt in her face, and Sun Blade's crumpled body.

As the Commons District gave way to the Market District, which was still largely of simple stone construction, they came upon another reminder of his grievances, seeing homeless 'eyeless'. The violators who earned a death sentence, and sought to escape it by sleeping outside, scattered like rats before the column's advance, fleeing down the alleys they hid in. _Why do you get spared while my sister and brother died?_ The only thing that came to mind was the Perfect deliberately slew them after their use in tracking him had ended. *Bastard! However, such darkly theorizing was halted as they then came upon another military unit, one which told the him the rumors of another Anathema were most likely true. Twofive-man fangs of Paragon's Jade armored and shock pike wielding Immortals approached, led by a well muscled woman known as Deep Pearl.

Female soldiers were almost unheard of, for as in much of the Southlands, Paragonese women tended home and hearth; and though this role extended into the city's arts, spiritual life, and administration, traveling professions and soldiering were still largely left to the men. But Deep Pearl was an exception since she carried the blood of the Dragons. Her thick mane of green-blue curls was bound tightly into two waist length braids, and where her own armor wasn't covering her brown skin, one could make out the faint touch of the same marine color. The Dragon Blooded further donned a short sleeved black robe with gold trim, and had a trident shaped direlance of Black Jade strapped to her back. A small jewel, inserted where the blade and shaft of the weapon joined, caught the Abisi's eye too, shinning a blue-black. Though Deep Pearl wasn't of the high born bloodlines of the Blessed Isle, she was still as deadly as any warrior of the Realm, and an extreme complication to Wind Fire's plan.

The sight of these elites brought more whispers from the common soldiers; one declared it must definitely be an Anathema with Deep Pearl present. The Exalt shot a glance at them, "Silence! There will be no more talk of Sun-demons. And by the Perfect's command you are not to discuss this with anyone, not even amongst yourselves."

With those orders, and the knowledge of the deadly consequences that would be paid by their violation, the procession marched on in silence, only broken to command gawkers to go and remain at home. At their destination, more of the city's military was there to greet them, helping evacuate the large marble and basalt structure. The eclipse had ended, with the sky falling into twilight as the Night Eye rose higher, triggering the essence powered street lamps - a work of magic that still amazed the Hahjab; a feeling shared by many across the South.

A leathery skinned man with a well-trimmed beard of gray sticking out from his helmet, topped by a pair of bull's horns, rode up to Deep Pearl. Wind Fire knew him as one Paragon's top Strategos, Darsus Bahantur, the Lion's Blade of Paragon. The pair talked quietly amongst themselves, probably planning out their strategy. The Strategos then yelled to the newly arrived troops, "You will join the others and form a perimeter around the theater, follow me."

Wind Fire remained in the shadow of a building, gradually slipping into an alley as the column marched by. Dismounting, he retrieved his wrapped up power bow, and left Northern Breeze behind with a gentle pat. Watching the Immortals enter the amphitheater, the Hahjab wasn't sure how exactly he was going to get inside, being it was completely surrounded at that point. The only thing he could think of was to use his disguise again. He waited until the elite soldiers entered, then hurried over, bypassing the line of guardians by speaking, "I have a message for the Immortals, let me through."

A stout Talonlord stopped him, "What message, I have strict orders that no one but the Immortals is to enter or be let out?"

He hesitated, but tried a lie, "It's from the Lion's Blade. I need to hurry."

The Talonlord looked him over, studying his genuinely urgent face, despite the expression not being generated by what the disguised Abisi claimed, and with a sigh waved him through. Signing himself, a relieved Wind Fire ran through the double doors of one of the entrances, finding himself in a curving interior hall, whose walls were all intricately decorated with frescoes and relief sculptures of the more popular stories and myths of the city. Moon and starlight illuminated this artwork, shining in from passages that led out to the seating areas.

Carefully making his way to the theater proper, he witnessed Deep Pearl cross the chorus space to the stage, where a man dressed like a Varangian cowered. The Dragon Blooded ordered him to come forth.

"Please, I'm not the Anathema, she's inside, she cursed me..." he pleaded, before the Exalt commanded him to shut up and flee outside. Instantly complying, he ran straight toward Wind Fire.

The Abisi tried quietly backing off, but was still too slow to avoid the Varangian's eye, "I told the others, she's down there."

Wind Fire was about to nod and send the startled man on his way, when Deep Pearl's voice boomed, "Who are you talking to?"

He gritted his teeth and pushed the Varangian aside, unfurling Bright Hawk. "I have a message from the Hahjabs!" Leaping out into the stands, he unleashed his anima. Like when he first erupted with power, his radiant aura formed into a fiery armored titan that caused his assailants to halt. The fear of his blazing self either froze the Immortals or caused their panicked flight.

Announced by a roar from his iconic brilliance, Wind Fire let an arrow fly at the awestruck Dragon Blooded. His Sun-gifted might soaked into the projectile, making the snap shot descend like a long and carefully aimed arrow, darting straight for her eye. But Deep Pearl wasn't as taken by his blazing entrance as her mortal comrades, swatting it aside with her direlance.

Deep Pearl's own anima, of the deepest blue, wrapped around her like the rush of waves. A burst of power flowed with it, spreading a mix of golden energy and her own elemental luster around the trident, which was accompanied by a cry of, "Paragon Triumphs, you demon spawn!"  
Then the Terrestrial leaped for him, bounding up the stands. Wind Fire let loose more arrows at her, but she spun her weapon, deflecting all but one. However, even that last shot she avoided, plunging the direlance into the stone of the seating and propelling herself over the projectile and into a flying kick, which slammed right into her opponent's chest. Despite the obvious force behind the blow, and it sliding him back a few arms, it felt more akin to a hard slap thanks to the hardening power of the stone inserted into Bright Hawk.

The space created by the kick was taken advantage of by both combatants - Wind Fire drew another arrow, while Deep Pearl retrieved her trident. He managed to free the shaft just as she swung the massive Jade tip around to descend on him. Each struck true simultaneously as well, but the outcome was not what the Abisi expected, for the Immortal's attack was aimed at his power bow, sending the arrow into her thigh instead of the intended throat. A blinding flare accompanied the collision of mystic materials, sending him stumbling back, dropping Bright Hawk, and desperately reaching for his sword to parry any forth coming attacks. He was too late though, feeling a painful lunge not only bite into his shoulder, but slap into him like a wave of the Inland Sea.

As his sight cleared, of both the flash and sprays from the aquatic energy surrounding her trident, he could see the jab obviously pierced his armor and skin, but again the stone's power surprisingly left the wound not as damaging as he would have expected of a Jade weapon. The Dragon Blooded's gritted teeth loosened in shared amazement.

"Stop!" A feminine voice cried. Wind Fire turned his eyes to a red headed woman in a blue stola, emerging from the backstage. She glowed such as himself, surrounded by a flickering, golden halo. The anima coalesced into a crowned sun with what appeared to be the Eye of Paragon in its center. "There's no need for this bloodshed. Please, both of you, lower your weapons."

The fellow Chosen's statement was more than a simple request, but carried some kind of convincing power. Feeling she was right, that the fighting was indeed unnecessary, he let his muscles go limp.

)"(

_Though she had spent decade upon decade waging wars in this realm of madness given form, the sight of everything made of flame was still strange. The paddlewheels of their Orichalcum and Red Jade constructed barge propelled them through an ocean of liquid fire, beneath a sky of smoke. A multi-colored inferno, as if a rainbow somehow burned their colors._

_Despite this searing sea, she, like the rest of the vessel and its crew, stood unaffected, protected by a shielding of essence that kept their forms as rigid as it would be in Creation, no matter the fact they floated deep into the edge-lands of the Wyld. Beside her at the starboard rail, was her circlemate. She had her long curls bound tightly into a pair of braids, while she guarded herself in an armoring of Orichalum chain, adorned with beautifully crafted necklaces and bracers containing the glittering gems of several manses worth of hearthstones. Her hand rubbed against another mystically charged stone, held in the hilt of one of her ivory handled short-daiklaves._

_"Radiance," she called to her, "be on guard. I know they're going to try and trick us into breaking the peace."_

_"I know, this armistice was just a ploy. We should keep pushing," she said fiercely back._

_A voice like crackling flames, mixed with the growls of a lion, interrupted them, "Talk like that will break the peace." The flaming sea broke before the rising back of a gemstone-skinned behemoth, where a feline-featured humanoid of a red complexion and an indiscriminate gender stood; its hair a literal yellow colored bonfire. The Fae cloaked itself in robes of wispy smoke colored faces, which screamed for mercy. "I ask for an envoy, and you send this butcher to us," glaring at her with an intense hatred._

_Her circlemate's eyes narrowed, "Don't ever speak ill of my sister, Raksha, or I'll listen to her words instead of yours. So speak now, what are your terms?"_

)"(

The vision passed, and the Abisi still stood in the theater's stands, seeing Deep Pearl also lower her weapon in submission. The red haired woman stepped toward him, their eyes locked, strangers somehow recognizing each other, almost as if they were long lost friends reuniting.

Looking unsure, she requested, "Come with me."

Wind Fire couldn't help but want to, even if he wasn't charmed.

)"(


	20. Sacrifices

**Sacrifices**

Jalah didn't know what was worse - her breath being choked from her or being unable to move with the tendrils of hair pinning her down or the demon's abyssal gaze. The later felt like maggots digging through her skull or a knife capable of cutting into her very soul. All her thoughts and all her feelings were naked before the monster on top of her. She couldn't even scream anymore.

"You!" The demon cried in a noxious voice, then let off a howl of laughter that felt like nails being driven into her ears. "Fate smiles on me to have you walk into here," her words were in the language of the Old Realm, taking Jalah a moment to understand a tongue she rarely heard outside of a ritualized form. "Do you know how long you kept me trapped here?" The infernal-child's voice darkened, growing more pitch than the cavern, "Now you will be the one I keep here. I'll make you crawl and eat your own filth, make you watch the cursed burning light of your god rise and fall so many times from this cave, you'll cut your own eyes out to escape it!"

The demon's proclamations frightened the runaway slave. Even though she was going dizzy, her lungs burning for air, the thought of the fate this pale skinned creature had for her struck a fear she hadn't realized terrified her so. _No! I'll never be a slave again! _This protest shouted through her mind, and something heard it. A jubilation of colors burst from her chest, adding to the blaze of her own Sunset colored aura, and actually scattered the pitch of the demon's presence. It sent the mockery of a girl to scream her own pains as she fled to one of the remaining shadows.

Jalah immediately crawled away as well, leaving the space for the cave's hall. Sucking in the air her body demanded, the former servant faced the demon, who hissed at her from her darkly refuge. She recalled from her vision the foul being's name - Ashikirei, the Drinker of Secrets - who studied her back, but couldn't raise her eyes from the rainbow hue about Jalah's chest, which originated from the crystal she stole from Kelohay.

Grasping the gem, she felt its warm essence, fingering the symbols carved into it, which were unlike any script she'd ever witnessed, knowing for certain it wasn't Old Realm. She wondered at its power to drive the demon back, only seeing her former mistress use it to add more essence to her spells; learning it was a family heirloom from the Shogunate era, when eaves dropping during gatherings of House Mnemon. Whatever extra powers it had, it kept Ashikirei back. Whispering a prayer of thanks to the Dragons, she decided to take advantage of this warding to leave.

With her departing steps, the demon cried, "No, please!" The desperation in her voice made the runaway pause. "Don't leave."

Jalah couldn't believe her. "You want me to stay. Why, so you can try and make me your slave again," and put her back to the demon.

"I can teach you sorcery," Ashikirei's statement halted her again, but willed herself not to turn around.  
_She's a demon_, she's lying, Jalah thought.

"I saw into your heart, Jalah." The fact Ashikirei could utter her name disturbed her. "I know you want the power of your mistress, Mnemon Kelohay." She then let off a low chuckle, "Speaking of that, so is it true Sun-Child, the Terrestrials rule Creation, those insects actually overthrew you mighty Solars?" Her last statement was pure mockery, but it triggered an overwhelming vision...

)"(

_He was confused, seeing the doors to the great Jade chamber slam shut. Only a few others noticed, from the grand ball thrown for all the Solars. Only one other of his arguing circlemates saw this as well, the ruby haired woman._

_Then the chamber exploded into searing golden flames. They rolled over the rulers of Creation, incinerating their clothing and burning their flesh. Even his ancient teacher screamed in pain, her locks consumed by the fire of same shade. He was completely devoured, seeing his hand melt away in the inferno, falling to his knees in utter and complete agony, wondering who would dare attack them. Who was foolish enough to launch an assault against the Princes of the Earth..._

_...His leaping circlemate answered the questions. The black skinned woman slammed through one of the doors...but she was knocked back as the massive axe-blade of a Jade grimcleaver was buried in her chest. Its Terrestrial wielder, glowing with the white aura of the Earth Dragon, wrenched it out of his sister; but she grabbed his weapon and throat, forcing the betrayer to his knees. More of the lesser Exalted followed however, battling their lords..._

_He didn't understand why their own soldiers would do this...but his question went unanswered as the last of his life fueled the fire..._

)"(

Ashikirei's ridicule brought her back from the vista of her previous life's death, "So let me get this straight, the Terrestrials convinced themselves they were the lords of Creation, the liberators of you pathetic humans? Very rich, like worms claiming to be rulers of the shit they feed off. And you believed it?"

"Silence!" Jalah commanded, full of righteousness from her past incarnation's betrayal.

"Oh don't feel bad Sun-child", the demon went on. "My masters felt the same when the Incarnae overthrew them. Vilified and blamed when left to rot in a prison of their own flesh, done by ungrateful subordinates who didn't appreciate what their creators did for them. You truly have my sympathies."

Jalah knew the history well, at least what was told by the preachers of the Immaculate Order. Creation was once ruled by the Yozis, holding it all in bondage, until the Elemental Dragons sealed them off from existence; but the tale of how the lords of Malfeas slithered in the Anathema, she knew was misinformed. _No, outright lies!_ She was no infernal beast, like the creature before her, but the same woman she was before her fingers cracked open her former mistress's book, before she was exalted. _Yes, I am a Chosen of the Sun, as the Dragon Blooded are the Chosen of the Dragons._

"Yes, Sun-Child," the true demon said with continued amusement, "it was that treasonous and self-righteous bastard, the so-called Unconquered Sun who led the revolt against the true masters of Creation, not the Dragons. Ooooh, how the world's changed since I was trapped here. I had an inkling, whispers of little gods, seeing the thoughts of the idiot humans who tried to pick this place's bones. But I couldn't believe it, not until I drank your secrets."

"Shut up," the Solar shouted. She didn't dare stare Ashikirei in the eye, but glancing toward her, it was hard not to entertain the creature's offer. It was obvious to all but the most ignorant of fools that the denizens of Malfeas could never be trusted, but Jalah knew she needed help. _And where would someone like me get it?_ "If you teach me, I'll free you, and only after. Understand?"

The Drinker of Secrets bowed. "I'll only need one thing from you."

"What?" Jalah could hear Kelohay's unrelenting voice, when she dealt with her own summoned demons, echoing in her own, "I'm giving you freedom, and you want more. No. Our deal is simple, you teach me, then you can go. Nothing more, nothing less."

The Exalt could see the impatient anger shaking her body despite the half smile on the being's face. "I will need blood. Mortal blood to fuel my spells." She shrugged, "I do not have the Essence of Creation at my disposal, Jalah."

"Don't ever say my name again. And what do you mean?"

"I mean what I quite clearly said, mortal blood. Find me some, and we can begin."

Jalah couldn't believe what she wanted. Did this thing really expect her to go out and drag some hapless people back here to be murdered? Was she Kelohay now, like when she fed her helpless 'older sister' to the spirit? "No. I'm wasting my time here."

"Who will teach you then," Ashikirei coldly stated. "Will you wander about, trying to rip secrets from your book? Crawl back to your mistress, ha? If what I drank from you is true, you are alone, Jalah. I am your only option if you wish to recapture what was once yours. What is a few short lived lives compared to what you could do for a _thousand_ more after we finish. To die for your progression is their fate. It is the most glorious thing these little pathetic humans could hope to aspire to. You know I'm right, I read your heart. If you never want to be a slave again, then be Creation's master."

She didn't know how to respond. _Hesiesh burn her, she's right_, profanely uttering the Dragon of Fire's name, Jalah sadly agreed. The Solar had read her stolen tome cover to cover and was no closer than before she was chosen. She also pondered on why the storm had led her here. _Was it a sign? Dragons...Unconquered Sun...ugh, is this what I'm suppose to do?_

"And where am I suppose to find some mortals, let alone get them to follow me here?" Jalah said with as much distaste as her tongue could summon.

Ashikirei grinned again. "Well, there were those men you chanced upon before coming here." To her wide eyes, the demon explained, "Remember, I drank your memories Sun-Child. Was it the other night you came to their camp? I can't be sure, what's a night or day to me."

"Fine," she whispered mechanically; shocked to hear the word escape her lips, like her mind sat aside and let some cold part of her heart take control.

The Exalt came upon the merchants later that night, beneath yet another sky bursting with rain - feeling like the heavens both wept and pissed on her for even considering the demon's offer. _They took you in, fed you...You really are an Anathema._ Her conscious plagued her every step, but Ashikirei's argument kept her feet moving. _"What is a few short lived lives compared to what you could do for a thousand more...If you never want to be a slave again, then be Creation's master."_

Just like before, their dog warned them, followed by the guard. "It's that Eastern girl again."

Sitting a second time at their fire, Jalah politely took their offered meal, but only picked at this time.

The older gray haired merchant spoke, "I see you changed your mind. I'm very glad to see this."

"Yes, very wise." The curly haired one smiled, giving her his lusty eye again.

Jalah swallowed with closed eyes, then began her lie, "Actually, I came back because I need more than your companionship. I...I found a place, an ancient place, and this was there." She exposed the golden chainmail from her satchel, sending the merchants into awe. "There's more stuff like this back there...and I could use your help."

The youngest merchant took hold of Sun Scales, examining it. "I've never seen a gold like this before...it's beautiful." He turned to his fellows, "This alone is a Shotol's fortune, we need to go back with her."

"Where was this place?" The curly haired one's lust was now for the armor.

"A tower," She answered, "by the sea."

The eldest merchant rubbed his goatee, "I think I know of this place, a cursed ruin from the First Age. My own father spoke of it in his time, told me never to snoop there. Haunted by the Anathemas' ghosts."

Jalah's conscious and desire warred in her heart, wanting to encourage the other men's greed or to heed the old man's warning. She simply remained silent, trying to hide her shame.

"She came back just fine. I'm going," the youngest merchant's avarice dismissed the elder. The curly haired man voiced agreement with his younger colleague, and it was decided they would go at Sun up.

Jalah spent the rest of the night forcing down her urges to dissuade them or to even flee into the night.

)"(

"You found it up here?" The younger merchant asked with eyes full of Jade, leading the way inside for his companions. They'd left the guard down at the tower with the llamas and dog, she hoped he would flee instead of trying to save his wards.

"Yeah," she weakly replied.

"You seem oftly sullen for the prize you found," the old merchant looked questioningly into the runaway's eyes.

"I'm just a little scarred," and forced a smile.

The other two merchants bungled right into the chamber containing Ashikirei. "Why is it so damn dark here," the curly haired man mumbled. He was going to say more, but the demon finally revealed herself.

"Thank you Jalah," the pale skinned creature said with glee, lashing out her shadowy hair to ensnare the screaming merchants.

The eldest reared around to the Solar, reaching for the short sword at his belt. "You treasonous slut!"

He took a hack at her, triggering a burst of essence that propelled her hand into a parry that not only grabbed his wrist, but twisted the bones to the point of snapping. Her other appendage moved just as quickly, chopping down into the man's neck with enough force to send him onto a knee. The merchant's pain was replaced with terror as Ashikirei's hair wrapped around his limbs and throat.

Tears poring down her cheeks, Jalah whispered after him, "I'm so sorry."

The Exalt closed her eyes as the Drinker of Souls lived up to her name, hearing the merchants making their sobbing pleas, followed by their dying screams. When it was silent, she peeked to see pale withered husks, who's expressions were frozen in fear and agony. It saddened her more that she never even learned their names.

"Agh, it's been too long since I've fed." The demon wore a sickeningly pleased face.

"I thought you needed their blood," Jalah questioned.

Ashikirei giggled, "No, I needed their minds. It's been a few centuries...I think...since I've fed from more than a passing bird. So now that my fun's over, shall we begin?"

"Then why'd you tell me you needed their blood to do your spells?"

"Because Sun-Child, I figured you'd never believe me if I said I needed their minds."

"So you never needed their blood to teach me?"

"No. You truly are clueless, and completely failing at living up to the one you were before."

She cursed the child-looking monster, slipping into her first language of Low Realm to let an out-pore of angry words escape her tongue. Ashikirei just looked bored, "Are you done yet?"

Jalah ignored the demon's mind-reading eyes, boring her own furious ones into their devouring pitch. _You can see what I want to do with you, you little bitch!_

Ashikrei responded with a long laugh, before dismissively replying, "Now that your finished with your temper tantrum, let's start with the simple truth of sorcery. It's channeling Essence through will alone, which of course is much more difficult than it sounds..."

The demon would continue on, teaching Jalah insights and displaying demonstrations of how to take the raw Essence of Creation and will it into other shapes. The Drinker of Souls would bring to life the shadows around her, which formed into hideous silhouettes of beasts, howling and gnawing at the mystical bindings of the imprisoning chamber. The lessons went well into two days. Yet the young Exalt was eager to learn, and even more eager to be done with Ashikirei.

"If you're so sure you want to be done with me, go out and study that storm," the infernal creature groaned at her student when their eyes accidentally met, echoing a teaching in a different life. "Try and see the Essence flowing through it, shaping and fixing it to reality."

The sharp wind and cold rain of the storm was heaven compared to the soul-ache she felt around Ashikirei. The turbulent weather nearly masked the setting Sun. _Agh, twilight...maybe it's a good sign._ Once again she analyzed the storm, observing how the various elements interacted with each other. Closing her eyes, she next tried to feel connection, how their Essence flowed into one another, pooling together into the greater whole of Creation, and even into her, just as the demon and the Book of Elemental Calling told her.

Thunder boomed, drawing Jalah back to the storm, followed by a flash of lightning as it shot from the sky. The electrical arch raced down, crashing into the cave's mouth. She managed to jump back, landing on her hands and feet. Flames crackled where the Exalt stood just a breath before, except she witnessed more than fire, but could glean right into the spirit of its composition. With a move of her hands, the fire moved. Stepping closer with awe, her anima a beacon once again, she continued to experiment at commanding the flames, making them flow upward, swirl, and dance. Jalah couldn't hold in her joyous laughter, realizing she was able to channel her will through the Essence. She was able to command sorcery.

"Yes," Ashikirei disrupted her delight. "You can now be Creation's master instead of its slave. That's what you were thinking right? Well I've completed my part of the bargain, now it is yours, free me," her voice full of hope and longing.

Annoyed, the servant-no-more faced the Drinker of Souls, letting her read her mind one last time.

"No! I taught you...Noooooooooo!" She howled, falling into curses and threats.

The newly christened sorceress retrieved her belongings and left the demon. "Maybe in another thousand years, whoever I'm reborn into will let you out," and gave the monster a final sneer before descending the slick steps from the cave, thinking this was the small measure of justice she could give to the merchants she helped fool and murder. _Still, Ashikirei was right. Their deaths were probably the most important thing they could have accomplished in their lives_, and tried to dispel her guilt pangs with this justification. Their sacrifice had after all enabled her to wield the power of her former mistress, the power of Creation itself.

)"(


	21. Hidden Crimes

**Hidden Crimes**

A branch of the Prism flowed outward, clean and pristine, free of the Wyld's taint; from these uncorrupted waters did the farmers of the Anjala draw the life giving liquid to irrigate their fields. Ironically, they were also the source of much death as the streams and creeks weren't enough for everyone, becoming the main cause of conflict between the ruling families. The waterway before Tonauac, swollen from Air's rains, marked the border between the Dayias Shebit and Aryamani. Gazing at the ford, he could only imagine how many had died in the skirmishes between them and their ancestors.

"Can you unthie me now, we'll be on my Dayia's own lands?" The bandit-soldier, the Madjai learned was named Quick Stride, pleaded through his mouth of broken and missing teeth. As they had been, on their nearly two day journey, his wrists were bound behind his back, while another length of rope linked his ankles together beneath his horse, keeping him firmly aloft. Other than requests to be freed of his bonds, and guidance to his lord's domain, the sworn sword had remained tight lipped.

"No," Tonauac replied dismissively.

The giant trotted forward on his own animal, approaching the crossing's shrine. It was a post, driven into the earth, covered in glyphs and prayers to the Prism's little god, Zibaru. The largest print read: "Blood for blood. I bleed for your life, bleed a bit for me in return". It spoke of toll demanded by the spirit, a drop of blood to traverse her waters.

Tonauac went to retrieve this payment from the cut on his arm. Why prick a finger, when he already had a gash ready? When he unwrapped his wound, he found it completely healed. _No wonder it slipped my mind to check it today_, marveling at yet another of his gifts. When asked about it by his captive, Tonauac told him to shut up, and retrieved a knife to pierce a finger tip, letting a single drop of his blood fall into the stream. Then he muttered a prayer to Zibaru, and proceeded to splash through, pulling along Quick Stride.

They reached the small kasbah by nightfall, its stone looking black against the silvery light of the nearly full Moon. The fortress was largely a sturdy keep, walled off, with the resident Dayia's sworn swords watching their approach from the battlements of the scarred and repaired over defenses - proud markings of any rural Brassite lord, to show off his survival against his enemies. Gazing up at the torch lit soldiers, lightly armored and wearing their lord's colors in their turban wrapped helmets, Tonauac dismounted.

"Brothers...", Quick Stride tried to announce, but was silenced when Tonauac sliced his legs free and pushed him rudely from the horse.

Then the Madjai spoke to the guards, "Tell Dayia Shebit I have one of his men. I've come to return him."

Tonauac wanted to get this over with, too full of wrath. He had always been rather blunt and bold, but never so since he was Chosen. The giant was sorely tempted to rip open the arched gates and slay anyone who dared to hinder his path to delivering justice to the Dayia, especially as he remembered the family crying over their husband and father back in Kerhama.

The guards gathered, whispering. Tonauac stretched his senses, hearing them argue about what to do, having orders to deny any of the volunteers who went forth to deliver their liege's revenge. _Revenge? What could those townsfolk have done to him to warrant his revenge? Hornless bastard! _To say a man had no horns, when their war god was also the Heavenly patron of bulls, was a grave insult, and one all to fitting.

He yelled up to sworn swords, "I know he disguising himself as a bandit, so let me speak to Shebit."

"Who are you?" The oldest of the swords demanded, his beard streaked with gray, and a deep scar traveled down the right side of his face. "And what madness has possessed you to summon my Dayia as if he were a servant!"

He answered, "I am Tonauac Four-Fingers, Madjai in service of the Kandake's justice." He spoke formally of the duty he vowed to undertake for Brass's ruler, when he actually meant for the higher sense of humanity he figured the Unconquered Sun represented. Another twist of the truth left his lips, "and I'm willing help your Dayia see his justice served."

The weight of his name sunk into the guards, who made more urgent hushes amongst themselves, not realizing the Madjai could hear every word. The older guard decided to inform their lord, sending a sword off.

The scarred soldier looked back at Tonauac, "We'll let the Dayia decide, wait there." His last statement carried a clear threat, backed by the other guards readying their bows.

The giant glanced down to Quick Stride. "So, you went under orders of Shebit, even though you knew you couldn't return?"

"How'd you know thath?" The soldier-bandit paused, while struggling to sit up.

Tonauac nodded toward the other soldiers, "I have good hearing."

After managing to get himself in a seated position, Quick Stride clarified, "I wasn't ordered, I voluntheered."

"I would've said you were brave", the Madjai crossed his arms, "if you weren't slaughtering villagers, and didn't beg to be brought back here when the moment came to answer for your crimes."

Looking down, the sworn sword confessed, "Yes, I admith when you capthured me, I failed my vows...buth for all your thalk of justhice Madjai, you should at leasth hear my Dayia's cause."

"I'm sure I will." He was certain he'd hear all sorts of justifications for what amounted to another round in a generational grudge over who controlled this particular branch of Zibaru's river.

The older guard again called to Tonauac, "Dayia Shebit will meet with you Four-Fingers." The Madjai could hear him quietly tell his men to still keep their bows ready.

The thick double-doors parted, revealing the Dayia, standing where the brief entrance tunnel and the courtyard met, flanked by two of his sworn swords, along with a lantern carrying slave. Shebit was a short, stout man, who still carried himself in a strong and sturdy manner, despite the white-gray of his goatee and mustache. He was covered in simple sleeping robes, his shaved head bare; but a large dagger wafter some dusters. They say those hill devils even cursed your employer, with his home burning down around him. So am I meeting a ghost?" His last sentence carried some amusement.

"No, I'm no ghost Dayia," the Madjai replied as he stepped closer, humored at the tale. "But..."

Quick Stride interrupted, dropping to his knees between them. "My lord, I'm sorry for leading him here. Ith was weakthness and fear, buth I thoughth he mighth be able tho helpth us. None the less I offer you my life for my failure."

Surprised and admittedly impressed by the soldier's actions, Tonauac still saw the perfect distraction, especially as he was momentarily forgotten by the angry Dayia. Just as Shebit begin to scold his failed sword, he flung himself over Quick Stride, right at one of the bodyguards, slamming his gauntlet covered fist into the man's face. The giant followed by launching a spin kick that took both the noble and his remaining guard down. Then, the arrows came, and he felt two thuds...yet strangely no pain followed. Notching it off to his buff jacket's protection, he drew one of his twins, putting the flame piece to Shebit's bleeding face. He made sure to angle his body just right for the archers, exposing where his weapon was aimed.

"Make one more move and you'll be explaining your failure to the rest of your lord's family," he yelled at them.

The scarred sword barked back, "I'll make sure to show them your tortured corpse first!"

"All of you hold," Shebit ordered, not taking his eyes off the flame piece.

Tonauac grimaced at the dayia. "So Shebit, what's your reason for sending off your swords to butcher Kerhama, huh? Aryamani's own men too much for you now? You damn Dayias and your feuds."

"Waith!" Quick Stride cried, stumbling toward them. "We were tho avenge his sons," and fell to his knees. "Aryamani murdered them."

Tonauac eyed the soldier skeptically, "So you're trying to tell me the people of Kerhama killed them?"

Shebit explained, "No...Aryamani killed them." His eyes closed, clenching his teeth in rage and sorrow before continuing, "My oldest, Mkhai, went as a guest. We were trying to end our long fight, as the Kandake wanted of us." The Madjai knew of what the Dayia was discussing; Brass's ruler was making great efforts to end much of the petty infighting, and present a more united front with the growing troubles brought by the Empress's disappearance and Paragon's increasing aggression. "But he murdered him, and claimed my son was the one who insulted his home and drew a blade first. I tell you Four-Fingers, Mkhai was sincere in our efforts. It was Aryamani who wanted to continue bleeding me; him and his fathers before him always wanted my family's lands." Tears actually fell from the man's eyes, "And my other child would not be counciled. He rode off with some of my men to avenge Mhkai. I found their bodies staked along the river."

"That still doesn't explain your cowardice," Tonauac sneered. His finger was ready to pull Ruby's trigger, then unleash all his divine might on the kasbah.

Shebit clenched his fists, "I had to make that pig suffer! I went to the Kandake herself, demanding justice. This went beyond a just a simple feud. But she refused, siding with Aryamani, forbidding me to act at all, telling me she would send her Warhost to punish me. Me! Of course the Kandake would side with Aryamani. He's a richer Dayia, more traders go to him; his lands grow more bread; and he of course has more sworn swords to help against the Perfect...I couldn't let him get away with it. He had to suffer! Where's my justice, I ask you?"

Tonauac kept his weapon aimed at the noble, thinking over his story. It was indeed a tragedy, but he couldn't forget all the people killed and injured who had nothing to do with this crime. "Still, what did the Kerhamans have to do with this, except having the bad luck of being born under Aryamani's rule? You punish the wrong ones, Shebit. Where's their justice now? I saw a family lose their husband and father. Would you let one of his sons come here for justice?"

Shame flooded the Dayia's eyes, casting them away from the giant's judging own. "...You're right...but..."

"But nothing," the Madjai roared. "If you truly had honor, you'd go to Kerhama, confess your crime and beg for forgiveness, earn it by helping them rebuild what damages you did."

The Dayia was stunned. His men on the battlements laughed.

Tonauac spun his gaze to them, letting his power bleed through his words, "Quiet!" All the swords cringed. Refacing Shebit, he proclaimed, "Since it would be impossible to for you to see justice done against Aryamani, I'll do it myself."

"How?" Shebit balked. "I've even been forbidden from hiring Madjai, and you're just one man."

"I don't need money, pay me by helping Kerhama," was all he said, withdrawing Ruby and walking away.

As soon as he stepped from the Dayia, an archer loosed another arrow. Without thinking, Tonauac caught it, leaving the soldiers in an amazed stupor. Dropping the shaft, he continued on his way, overhearing the older sword call to Shebit, asking for permission to go after the Madjai. The noble ordered him to stay.

However, Quick Stride came running after him. "Pthlease, leth me come."

Tonauac stopped from mounting his horse, just eying him with a raised eyebrow.

"You spthoke thrue Four-Fingers, we were wrong atthacking that thown...Plthease, leth me redeem myself. I can also pthrethend to be your pthrisoner."

"No. If you want to redeem yourself, help your Dayia make amends to Kerhama. And if he doesn't, do it yourself."

Tonauac swung himself into his saddle, ignoring Quick Stride's further pleas as he trotted off. He was genuinely taken by the man's desire to make reparations, _But he'll only get himself killed coming along...or try and kill me if he finds out what I really am._

)"(

Tonauac took in the heavens, seeing the eclipse and all five Maiden Stars shinning on the kasbah of Aryamani, which rose off a high rocky hill. Before, he would have taken this new phenomenon of the Sun and Moon joining as a foul sign, but now he recognized it as a blessing - 'remembering' some words of a past life,_"The gods shine united today, for all of Creation."_

_I'm going to need all their help_, the Madjai thought, dismounting. Even being a Solar and possessing all the power that came with it - such as when he discovered the arrows that were shot into him had indeed pierced his armor, but didn't even mark his skin - he felt as if he was still walking into suicide. Aryamani's fortress was much larger and twice as defended. Tonauac knelt, bowing as he prayed to his patron. _Hear me Unconquered, I got much to make up for, for all the crimes I committed. I don't know you well, but I believe you're a just god, and that I am your Chosen. And If I am your instrument, to avenge Shebit's sons and end this man's greed, guide me into victory, even if it means my life. _Returning to his feet, he patted his horse's snout and left the animal behind.

Tonauac could say he had one advantage, that he had worked for the Dayia before. The first time was when he was just an apprentice, barely a year past his self-exile. The other time was after he was on his own, but still a whelp, just another member of a team sent to hunt down an escaped group of slaves who murdered one of Aryamani's sworn swords; the noble's own men were too busy fighting other Dayias to waste time on fetching runaways. He remembered they were to return only their heads...letting out his guilt for killing the begging servant boy...telling himself then, he would have died anyway from the slash the Madjai had given him. _I'll make it up to you too_, he said to himself, sadly realizing he couldn't even recall the kid's name.

To the giant enforcer's relief, a telling of his name earned him entrance. The guards had heard rumors he was in Kerhama, and figured he'd come to see if Aryamani would hire him to hunt down the bandits. It wasn't long before Tonauac found himself in audience hall, presented with wine and fruit by slaves, which he politely consumed while awaiting the Dayia.

He was studying the tapestries, the crimson and storm blue of the Negus family, when Aryamani entered the small hall, emerging from behind the curtain backdrop of his throne. The noble was very tall, rising nearly to Tonauac's brow, and thin, his features sharp enough to cut by, all of which was clothed in robes of his family's colors, including a bejeweled turban of blue. "Tonauac," he warmly greeted. "I am graced to have such a man in my lands, when such a terrible crime has been done to my people."

The Madjai forced a smile, handing his half emptied goblet back to the female slave. _He doesn't even remember me serving him before, hmph._

"I would be delighted to hire you." He descended the dais, taking a handful of figs from a slave. "It will be a relief, since my own swords have failed to find these bastards, who've already burned out two of my farms before daring such a strike on Kerhama." He gave disappointed glances to the four guards who silently occupied the room as well - two at the door, and two at the foot of the throne's dais.

Tonauac nodded, working out a battle plan to take them all down, and remembering how many soldiers he passed on the route to the hall.

The Dayia then surprised him, "To make your job even easier Four-Fingers, you don't mind me calling you that, do you? Well my men captured one of them." With a snap of his fingers, two more swords entered, dragging in an even more battered Quick Stride, who's will went into avoiding the Madjai's eye.

_Plentimon's piss_, he cursed as the soldier of Shebit was dropped to the stone floor.

"We found him snooping around shortly before you arrived. He confessed right away," Aryamani went on. "Even though the sky is evil tonight, I would say this is providence. Don't you agree?"

Quick Stride willed a grin to the giant, then launched a fist into one of his minder's manhood. Aryamani stepped back, as the rest of his sworn swords rushed in to detain the prisoner. _You five-cursed fool_, Tonuac mentally scolded of Quick Stride, as he too rammed an elbow into one of the door-guards, then slid out his foot to trip the other. The Madjai followed up by drawing his twins, using his inner magic to instantaneously feel the flow of energy between himself, his weapons, and the two swords closing in from the throne. In the space of breath, he saw the best possibilities of aiming his flame pieces true, and acted on them, blazing the ignited firedust forth.

Avoiding his engulfed comrades, one of the guards, who dragged Quick Stride in, freed his scimitar and charged Tonauac. The giant readied to knock the attack aside with his fighting gauntlets, but the soldier-bandit grabbed the man. Tonauac yelled for him to halt, but the sworn sword knocked his hands away and sliced open Quick Stride's chest.

)"(

_He saw another of his Terrestrials go down, the leader of his elite force, and a loyal soldier for over two centuries who hailed from a line that served him for generations. Her Jade armor was broken like glass as the infernal daiklave ripped open her chest and stomach; her life extinguished like her fiery anima. And though she hadn't died in vain, with the huge blade of her direlance impaling the traitor's demonic locust of a mount, his rage burned hotter than the flames of Divinity's Wrath._

_The traitor managed to leap off her agatae, as the demon's corpse sailed into the depths of the canyon below, landing on the cliff just across from him. She was once a Solar, a sister Zenith such as himself; but the woman, with short spiky hair, had sold her soul to the Yozis, trading the Unconquered Sun for the mocking green light of Malfeas. Her weapon and armor even reflected this treason, forged from the abhorrent materials of Hell._

_"You abomination," he roared, taking a battle stance with his blade. "I will cleanse your taint from our father's eye!"_

_Her retort was to leap, which he mimicked. Their weapons met in mid-air, each striking and blocking a dozen times before their weight carried them back to the earth. She landed along the canyon's wall, pushing herself back at him. Letting her come, he aimed his ganklave, charging righteous might into the barrage he let loose. Each one of those blasts released a burning cloud, which formed into wrathful fanged phantoms; they raced toward her like comets, overcoming her attempts to twist around or batter them away, sinking their fiery teeth into her flesh. Howling, her badly burned body collapsed at his feet without a hint of finesse. _

_Raising his blade, he exclaimed, "Let your Essence go onto one more worthy, you Yozi-whore!" Then hacked down to end her sickening existence..._

)"(

When the vision cleared, two more of Aryamani's sworn swords were dead, hacked down by the bloody falchion in his hands. The Dayia himself cowered on his knees, unable to utter a sound in spite of his dropped jaw. The soldier he tripped earlier, abandoned his sword and fled. The Solar realized his anima surrounded him with a soft glow, flaring brighter when his eyes fell upon the corpse of Quick Stride.

A fury the like of which he had never felt overcame him, seeing this man who sought to redeem himself, sacrificing himself, lying dead at his feet. This anger immediately fell upon the Dayia, and without a thought he took the man's head off. It was all a blur of killing after that. Raging through the kasbah, Tonauac slaughtered anyone who had the misfortune of getting in his way, anyone who was unlucky enough to have vowed their blades to Aryamani. Death and fire filled him, and quickly filled the fortress as well.

When he came to, Tonauac found himself approaching his horse, splattered with blood, both from his own and those he killed. Behind him, the kasbah was in flames, with survivors fleeing into the night. _Ken-Metarma's breath, what did I do?_

)"(


	22. Complications

**Complications**

The tunnel stretched onward, a seemingly eternal pathway into the lightless depths of Chiaroscuro's undercity. From the meager illumination of the torch, held at the front of her transport, Ryana could make out the ancient construction - tunnels of smooth stone, ribbed with crystalline rings every hundred arms or so. It was all aged and cracked, showing hints of mosaics, relief sculptures, and rune etchings along its length; the particular section she journeyed down was also flooded with seawater. Paddling her small, slim boat along, the Blade had heard these tunnels once provided some kind of magical transportation in the First Age. She'd even seen the wreckage of one these vehicles, links of rounded containers that could hold dozens apiece. Until the Solar visions allowed her a peek into the previous era, it was hard for her to really picture the largely rotted contraptions of steel and wood being able to move. _It truly was the Age of Wonders._

As the tunnel gradually turned, Ryana finally saw her destination by the starlight poking through the gloom ahead. She guided her craft to the collapsed wall, where the sea of Chiaroscuro's harbor spilled in. The hole was disguised by an overhanging dock, joined with rubble and rotted planks of wood. After dousing her torch, she gently moved the obstacles aside with her oar, and struggled out of the undercity.

From beneath the dock, the Blade had an excellent vantage of the night shrouded harbor of the Southlands' largest city. It was crammed with ships from across Creation, echoed by the sounds of every Direction's language from the sailors who manned them. But the harbor's true marvel was the titanic breakwalls that guarded it. They spread out far into the Inland Sea, rising higher then all but the tallest of ships, their azure glass vaguely shaped like a gigantic crab's claws. In their open pincers, the Blade spied the towering lighthouses. The Bright Eyes, as they were called, blazed brilliantly, able to be seen for tail-lengths out into the sea.

Ryana tied her transport to a leg of the dock, then double checked all her gear - from her knives to the rope and strip of linen she was going to use to bind and gag her victim. Then the Blade masked her face with wrap of black cloth, and called on her gifts. Before, she would have risked paddling as close as she could to the target, and then spent some time running and ducking between the shadows, slowly moving toward her target. Even in a place as crowded as the harbor, it was surprising how easy it was to avoid attention. Most of the sailors were drunk as time became measured in Moon-movements, and the guards who weren't as well, were too busy keeping an eye on the rowdy seafolk than paying attention to the shadows. The day's earlier eclipse would have also helped, motivating most to stay indoors that evening. Yet the Bishah had to barely consider these factors any longer, her inner power seemed to make her completely unnoticeable. She was still careful to keep out of sight, but could hurry by, literally stepping right behind people and remain undetected. The gift would prove even more useful when she made her way back with the orkhan's mistress, which was always the hard part with kidnapping jobs.

It wasn't long before she arrived at the home of the noble's lover. The dwelling wasn't very large, only two rooms, but the wealth of its resident could be seen by the house's largely wood construction and glass windows. Looking down on it from her perch atop of the neighboring tavern, where she had studied her victims comings and goings for the past week, Ryana again thought of the Jade the prostitute made. _But why stay in the harbor? You could be a royal concubine, live in a keep or even one of the towers. _Whatever the prostitute's reasons, they didn't concern the Blade, aside from making the crime easier.

She dropped quietly from the tavern's roof, hitting the street with a roll right up to one of the home's windows. Ryana slipped a knife between the opening's seams, and popped it open. When making a visit on the previous night, she made sure to unlock it before departing. Creeping in, she moved with careful memorization through the nicely furnished home, with fancy rugs, porcelain knickknacks, and an intricate altar._ I'm surprised she hasn't been robbed living here, look at all this.__She must think Wadju personally keeps an eye on her_, seeing the harbor's spirit honored prominently on her personal place of worship.

Her bedroom was separated by strings of beads, which Ryana carefully parted. She remembered how gracefully the prostitute had done so for her, guiding the Blade to the plush bed of satin sheets, joined by the hide of a lion for the cold nights of Air. Currently the prostitute slept on that bed, slumbering peacefully, completely unaware. Her naked body was that of a man, and anyone unfamiliar with Delzahn customs would assume that was her gender. But she was a dereth - one who takes up the role of the opposite sex, for even the gods could make mistakes when reincarnating souls. She appeared at the end of her twenties, with a slender body, and a well sculpted face free of any facial hair that was surrounded by a head of long dark waves, tinged with green. Ryana found her beautiful, and the way she used her body pleasuring her was a heavenly night she would never forget. _Just like they all promised._

When trying to track down who Behnam Orkhan's mysterious mistress was, Ryana had asked around, daring to show her face to her Delzahn relatives, and even paying a respectful visit to her mother's khan. Not all her kin shunned her, particularly a cousin around her age, Nayeet. From her husband, Ryana would learn much of the 'Harbor's Harlot' named Tide's Song, "My uncle likes to see her at times, but of course we're not suppose to talk about that, since he works as a bodyguard for the khan. It would be quite a scandal if known." Not that seeing a dereth was bad. In the eyes of the Delzahn, Tide's Song was a woman; it just wouldn't sit well with the bodyguard's wife, who was kin to the khan. And all who would speak of the prostitute agreed she was legend in bed. It was unnecessary, but she decided to pay her a visit, get the layout in a friendly, unsuspicious manner. Aside from finding out she had no customers the night she chose to strike, the Blade received some carnal fun. Though not into her own gender, the dereth still had a man's 'sword' after all.

All this business with the prostitute reminded Ryana of her mother's fears she would 'take up the gray', as becoming a dereth was called - since they donned a gray sash to announce their soul's true gender. Though she would like to have the acknowledgment of her skill, which was a given of a male, she was comfortable being a woman. _Oh Mom, why should I have take up the gray to get the respect I deserve, it's total yeddim-shit. _Ryana would also never have been considered for membership in the Blades, following such a shasu practice. The Bishah despised the dereth, decrying them as proof of the Delzahn's savagery.

Shoving aside the tinge of guilt for the crime she was going to commit, she moved in, planning on simply knocking her out. _Tide's Song won't even know until we're tails deep in the undercity_, and so the kidnapper slammed her fist into the prostitute's temple. Unfortunately, the force of the blow wasn't enough, her deep black eyes popped open, swimming with shock instead of the alluring grasp the Bishah knew the other night. Still, Tide Song collapsed out of her bed, completely dazed. Groaning, Ryana and readied a kick to her chin, _This bitch is tougher than she looks_. Just before she landed her second attack, the dereth let out a strange cry, sounding like like some kind of marine animal. The odd noise was ended by the Blade's foot, followed by the criminal rushing to thrust up her victim, thoroughly annoyed at the possibility of attracting attention.

Tying the knot that bound Tide's Song's ankles, she felt cool liquid splash into her leg. Glancing down to see water rolling across the floor, spilling in from the living room, she stood up, wondering what witchery was this. When the water suddenly sprang a tentacle at her, Ryana narrowly avoided the blow by leaping onto the bed. It still sought her out, lashing at her new position. The limb of liquid shattered the bed, but missed the kidnapper, propelled by her magic through the room's doorway. Landing with a splashing role, her hands reached for a knife apiece, taking a defensive stance.

The tentacle didn't follow, but the water throughout the house collected together, forming into a humanoid shape that took on more solidity with every breath. Its final form was of a tall, smooth bodied and blue skinned woman, with wet seaweed like hair, and scantily clad in blue-black chitin that resembled a crab's. The spirit's eyes were the same as Tide's Song, an enchanting abyss. It dawned on Ryana that Wadju stood before her, and the dereth was her god-blooded child, a mingling of mortal and divine blood. _You've got to be kidding me_, but it all made sense, the 'Crab Mother' of Chiaroscuro was known for her motherly wants - for according to stories, her duty to protect the harbor also brought out her desire to sire children to parent as well. Many mates were lured into the little god's arms by her hypnotizing gaze.

Wadju sniffed the air. "I can smell you Exalt. So you Terrestrial worms take my lover away...And now my son! This is not the Blessed Isle, and I do not answer to your fake religion's petty delusions of a god's role!" Her Chitin bracers grew over her hands, sprouting into mammoth pincers.

_Why does she think I'm Dragon Blooded? _Ryana was bewildered, but had no time or care to ponder what the spirit was going on about. She let her blades fly, and they took with them some of her inner power, amazing the Blade as they sparked with golden light and shattered into dozens of jubilant duplicates. They shot through Wadju like hot pokers, sending the little god howling in agony. Taking advantage of her luck, she dove over the spirit, calling on more of her might to launch herself further and with more grace back into the bedroom to retrieve her target.

Again, the her plan didn't go as she envisioned it, feeling one of Wadju's claws rip off a chunk of flesh. The blow sent her colliding hard into the floor, willing a week roll to land on her feet, grimacing as waves of torment shot from her back. Forcing down the pain, she moved her hands to a Kata of the Tiger style, filling her fingers with unnatural strength, then sprang at her opponent. Blocking one of her pincers, and shattering the other with a rake of her hand, she followed with a quick spin, rearing her other appendage to tear into Wadju. It missed unfortunately, the little god barely ducking in time.

Ryana snarled, bracing herself for the harbor god's counter, while thinking of her own next move. However, the spirit stepped back, wearing a stunned expression,. "Prince of the Earth?"

"What!" Ryana snapped, again confused at her using the Dragon Blooded's title. It was then she noticed her forehead glowed, meaning her caste mark was visible. _Oh great...but the Dragon Blooded don't have marks, is this spirit stupid?_

"It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of a Solar's company," Wadju tried to speak politely, but her voice was soaked with amazement and pain.

"Then why are you confusing me with a Dragon Blood, I'm not a Prince of the Earth?" Ryana's words still carried some edge. Not only was she worried about failing her mission, but having her secret exposed. She wanted to get the spirit talking so she could figure a way out of the dilemma.

"I can see your Essence, but not taste your flavor," Wadju weakly laughed. "And the Terrestrials stole that title from your kind. I'm not surprised you're confused, with all the lies they tell mortals. But I'm pleased you haven't been struck down by the Wyld Hunt yet. I've been hearing all sorts of stories about the Sun's children returning, and I so wanted to meet one of you." She smiled, her eyes drawing her in as her child had.

Ryana averted her hazels, "Stop it!"

Wadju sighed with annoyance. "Fine", turning to her many wounds, watching her watery blood hit the floor, evaporating instantly into sparkles of pure spiritual power. "Then what do want with my son, or daughter as your mortal kin would consider him now?"

The Solar was taken back by all the spirit's revelations. However, her attention was called back to Tide's Song, seeing the dereth stir, becoming aware of her bindings and the presence of her mother and kidnapper. "I need her."

"I can see, but why should I let you have him?"

Ryana responded with a growl, readying to continue combat.

She held up her remaining pincer, "Let's see if we can come to an accord, Solar. I have a use for you, and if you do this, you can have him with no further trouble from me."

Predictably, Tide's Song mumbled out an objection, stifled from her gag.

Ryana ignored the god-blood. "What's to keep me from just taking her?"

The dereth's mother ignored her child too. "What's to keep me from whispering in the right ear an Anathema's in the city?"

The Blade sighed this time, relaxing her body.

"I'll take that as you're willing to listen," the harbor god giggled. "One of those fools, an Immaculate, dared to cross me, taking my lover, a cute chubby trader from the Blessed Isle. The monk scolded me as if I was a mortal child. He even struck me." Her angry voice was barely held in check, growing like storm tossed waves, "This is not the Isle, and I'm not some cowed god from there. I am Wadju, the Crab Mother of Chiaroscuro!"

"And what", Ryana asked with a bit of hesitation, "you want me to take this monk out?"

"No..." Wadju grinned evilly. "I want him to suffer a humiliation equal to the one he made me suffer. Bring me his precious chakram, losing it will disgrace that worm utterly."

)"(

_They came upon the obelisk, formed from White Jade. It was an anchor for reality, raised to safeguard the new piece of Creation, and block the Wyld just beyond it - seeing the volatile, baked earth give way less than a few hundred arms out, cracking and breaking off into a glittering rainbow hued desert, which lapped against the shore of Creation more like liquid than sand. This silt sea surrounded islands of gigantic gemstones that were covered in forests of diamond, beneath a sky of flaming clouds._

_"Why would you go there?" The elemental hissed, twitching its claws. The spirit, who she named Stinging Flame, had come to its senses after she forced it into submission. Only a season past, she would have slayed it without a care, but stayed her killing hand, needing to force down those urges. It was why she had come to Creation's edge after all._

_"I need to cleanse myself," she answered. "For too long I've killed without care, just did as I was told, been a tool for my sister and my circle...Even the Deliberative I let use me. I was exalted to fight for Creation. My past incarnations threw down the Primordials and built the Realm to protect this, and I've pissed on that legacy...I'm done with them and their nonsense." She gazed out into the Wyld. "There I will find a true enemy, something worthy to prove myself to the gods."_

_With that said, she left the company of the spirit, and stepped past the obelisk..._

)"(

Ryana's mind cleared of the memory, annoyed at its distraction. She dreaded if they'd forever plague her, especially at ill opportune moments, _Like the one that hit me before the Malek left. Kemu shadow me, that was embarrassing. _The Bishah almost dared to curse Initi, or whatever the Sun-god called himself, but thought it would be best not to anger her supposed patron._ I think Plentimon pisses on me enough._

She focused on her task, overlooking the jubilant splendor of the Aweryer - the Delzahn word for 'Heaven's Seat', the district of still functional towers and abode of Chiaroscuro's elite. West of the harbor they rose, overlooking the sea from a raised cliff face, just above the 'left claw' of the breakwalls. All showed cracks and other wear, with only four completely intact; but unlike the ruins of the Old City proper, these structures shined with a soft luster of their glass's hue. Brightening upon nightfall, Ryana was told they drank the day's Sunlight and used it to illuminate the interior for its occupants. A similar function kept lamps shining in the streets with no need of mundane combustibles, joined by rumors of running water and some kind of sorcery that somehow allowed the streets to clean themselves. Of course, many of the towers had Second Age buildings rising in their shadows, free standing or additions. They completely paled before the previous age's splendor. Moving toward the Aweryer, she couldn't help but feel forborne at her task ahead, paralleling somewhat with her First Age vision.

Though no walls separated the wealthy neighborhood from the rest of the City of Glass, the Blade still had to transverse the streets with stealth. Unlike in most other districts, the city guard was quite serious about keeping the peace; those soldiers loyal to the Tri-Khan himself, the ruler of Chiaroscuro and the Delzahn Khaganate, patrolled about in pairs, while the men of the lesser khans and merchant lords kept a serious eye from the keeps and towers' battlements. Still, it wasn't as if the Aweryer was under siege, bringing about a complacency within the sentinels, easily taken advantage of by Ryana.

Her destination was one of the intact towers, used to house the representatives of the Scarlet Empire. Technically speaking, the Delzahn Khaganate was not a tributary of the Realm, but a submissive ally; the Empress had other issues to deal with than trying to cow the Ka-Khan when he united the tribes to forge an empire. Still, to show proper respect to their 'allies' the reddish-purple tower was granted to the Blessed Isle's representatives. The stacked obelisk-like citadel gradually narrowed with each layer of its sixty story reach. Pinned to a central floor was a great banner, decorated with the encircled five-pointed star heraldry of the Dragon Blooded ruled empire - symbolizing the Elemental Dragons and their respective poles uniting to form Creation. A wall, the same shade as the building, surrounded the exterior, granting only hints of a garden courtyard beyond.

Ryana's sojourn did allow her advanced healing to kick in. Though still pained from Wadju's pincer, the wound was reduced to some ugly scabbed over gashes, which only mildly irritated her. More importantly, the respite granted her time to recover some of her inner power; the Blade would need it all if she was going to survive this mission. _Ironic, I gotta break into the place I need to be avoiding the most_, mentally moaning as she lifted her body from the shadow of a neighboring tower. _Hesiesh burn you, Wadju._

The Solar had already wrapped her aura about her body, making herself all but invisible, while summoning more of her magic to clear the wall in a single bound. Hiding behind one of the garden's larger bonsai trees, she observed the guards at the front gates - dressed in scarlet colored buff jackets, further reinforced with breastplates marked by the Realm's symbol. The male and female legionaries softly laughed at some joke as they nonchalantly leaned on their spears, beneath the light of Sun-capturing lanterns. It was so odd to see a woman dressed as a soldier, giving Ryana a visual to all the stories of how things were 'upside down' on the Blessed Isle, women ruling men. _Too bad it isn't that way in the South, I'd be on the damn conclave, maybe even the Malek._

The thought of taking over the Bishah had occurred to her during her preparations for the kidnapping, wondering why she was still taking orders when she was superior to any other Blade. Thinking she could perhaps do something more effective with it or at least enrich herself faster to get her family out of poverty. _But they'd never follow a woman, especially an Anathema. _She figured she'd probably expose herself in any coup attempt, and most likely enrage Kemu. _No, just need to keep my head low, and get the Jade I need to put all this behind me. Simple. _However, the feeling to do something grander with her gifts was nagging at her.

Descending the front steps came the change in guard, and the moment Ryana had been waiting for. She hurried up the stairs, past the row of statuesque pillars that guarded the entryway, carved to resemble simply-featured mortals of each gender, and followed the relieved soldiers through the sliding glass doors. Ignoring whatever the arcane hieroglyphics, etched into the glass walls, had originally meant, the bottom story had been converted for the use of the Immaculate Order. A curving inner wall of stone had been added, marked by a carving of the Five Dragons, which were formed into a ring on the portion facing her.

And in the face of Creation's guardians, the Blade sprang at the legionaries, surprising the male with a kick to the jaw that simultaneously knocked his pot helm off and unconscious to the floor. Before the female could so much as scream, she had her slammed against the stone barrier and a knife to her throat. Her shhhing demand of the cowering soldier was obeyed, who gasped before the shadowy figure the Solar's anima turned the thief into.

"Do you know who Azon is?" Ryana asked with as much menace as she could summon.

"The m-m-monk?" The legionnaire stuttered in thickly accented Flame Tongue.

"Yes, where does he sleep?"

"U-u-upstairs with the r-rest."

Demanding she lead her there, the Bishah tied the guard's hands with a strip of her already torn clothing. The frightened legionnaire complied, guiding her down the passage created by the inner wall, following its bend. It took them past several doorways, one on each side. The opening in the inner wall led deeper into the temple's heart, where the shrines to the Immaculate Dragons lied; each was guarded by a pair of half-columns, made of marble matching the element's colors. The right-hand entryways on the other hand exposed rooms of the tower's original architecture. The space by the Fire Gate was lined with wracks of weapons, appearing to be a dojo; a comfortable room with a fountain and sitting cushions stood across from Water's; and a bare meditation room was at Earth's. All were indeed lowly lit from the structure's Sun-soaked glass.

The legionnaire took Ryana to a sliding door of white glass, automatically opening at their presence, exposing a small windowless room. The Blade had heard of these moving spaces, said to cart people up and down the immense height of the towers. In the Old City ruins, she'd run across some inert and broken examples of these 'lifts'. Hesitantly she entered, the door shutting behind them.

The captive then announced something in the language of the Blessed Isle, and the room shifted and rose. Suspicious, Ryana pressed the blade to her chin. "What did you say!"

"I said it...to take us to...second floor," she blabbered back, stumbling over the foreign words of the South's language.

Their ascent was mere breaths, ending with the door sliding open again. Done with the guard, Ryana slammed an uppercut into her jaw, collapsing her into blackness; and though tempted to kill the soldier, a thought of Sahar made her heed her conscious. So she left the prone woman behind to enter the halls of the floor, which were only faintly illuminated, and divided into a number of apartments centered around an open space. The far wall was consumed by a huge arching window, exposing the courtyard-garden below.

With no way to know which room the Dragon Blooded slept in, the Blade went about quietly peering into each one, looking for some evidence of the Exalted monk. The large apartments, probably lavish homes in the First Age, were split into separate quarters, four Immaculates apiece slumbering away. Creeping inside a corner unit, near the wall-window, she came across her first Dragon Blooded - a woman, with a touch of pale blue to her skin, exposed by the cracks of Moonlight that seeped in from her curtained window. Obviously not him, she moved on to the dwelling's next room, finally spying a man with a scar traveling over his left eye and into his cheek. His skin also carried a blue touch, but much more obvious in showing him as a child of the Air Dragon, Mela. Wadju called him Ledaal Azon, and he stretched out his well honed body on a simple mattress of stuffed straw. His only furnishings were a plain chest, and a floor desk topped with ink and prayer strips.

Knowing it could only be in the chest, Ryana lifted open the container, seeing her prize lying atop some spare robes. The chakram of Blue Jade was a beautiful weapon, adorned by three dragons, two of which faintly marked the flat of the blade, wrapping around clouds and lightning bolts, while the third was shaped from an internal handle. The inner part of the ringed blade also contained etchings of what she figured were Old Realm. Lightning's Descent, the Crab Mother had called it. Not wasting anymore time, the thief took the chakram, along with one of the monk's sashes, and wrapped it securely.

That's when she heard cries of Realm-speech ringing about the outside halls. _I shouldn't have left that guard in the lift, five-curses! _As Azon shot up, she sprang toward the room's window, dropping into the garden below. Rolling to break her plummet, the Blade glanced back up, seeing the Dragon Blooded scan about, leaning halfway out of his window. He readied to jump too, leaving her frozen. If she moved, he might see her, even with her concealment; but if she remained, it was only a matter of time before her magic gave way and then her discovery anyway. Suddenly, a black feathered raiton swooped down from the night sky. The huge, three arm wide wing span of the avian flapped in the face of the Immaculate. Seeing her chance, the Blade made haste, clearing the wall again with a charm, and hightailing it out of the Aweryer.

Ryana couldn't help but smirk, and give praise for the twist of fate that sent the carrion bird her way._ I promise you the biggest and fattest goat I can find Kemu, and even you, whatever your __real __name is, Sun-god. Just please let me get Tide's Song to the Malek, so I can be done with this._

)"(


	23. Loyalties

**Loyalties**

_She picked up another of the figs, specially enchanted to be fatter and bursting with juice, and dipped it in honey purchased from Mu-Za-Ahcab herself - the Nectar Queen of Ten Thousand Hives, goddess of domesticated bees. Each bite of the sweet treat was truly divine._

_Swallowing the last bit, she went back to her study of the ancient scroll. It had been written a few centuries prior to her own birth, part of an extensive memoir. He described the Fae invasion of the period, one of the last great ones from the millennium long wars teeter-tottering since the Primordials were overthrown. Her Essence aided eyes could easily read the bitter resonance off his writing, commenting on the irony of how they had managed to overcome the tyrannical deities that enslaved existence to only be unraveled by the Wyld the Forgers of Creation had kept at bay. Taking her Second Breath at the end of that uncertain and warlike era, she knew how fortunate she was to have seen the finality of it, but also blessed to keep the lessons learned from those struggles._

_"Bring me the next set," she called to her automaton. The mechanical being of gold and glass, shaped roughly like a woman with unmoving ornate features on its faceplate, complied, bringing forth more scrolls from the collection she brought home with her._

_"Isharia," a voice disturbed her thoughts, turning to see her circlemate. He stood in her study's doorway, dressed in a midnight blue hued robe over the finery beneath, his lengthy green hair cascading down an oak colored face. "I see your trip to the Blessed Isle has proved fruitful."_

_"Walking Night, I'm glad it's you," she replied. Considering her thoughts, she was happy to see him. Like her, he was one of the few Exalts still breathing who lived during the tumultuous years of the early Realm. But she was not expecting him, especially during her studies, feeling a bit guarded._

_"What is it that you're so obsessively researching? I heard you visited half the libraries on the Isle, and I can see you indeed bought copies of the memoirs of Tambayshu's past incarnation." _

_"Actually the originals. She had them all recorded by singing avian-automotons. Saves on space."_

_"No appreciation for the hand that wrote them," he sighed with amusement, fully entering the room._

_"I felt the same. Ironic I read them to remember the struggles of the time, when Horizon's Eye's inheritor appreciates none of it. Too busy enjoying the pleasures purchased by others sacrifices."_

_"I see you have no issue taking in life's pleasures," stepping close to snatch up a fig of his own._

_"I earned them." More anger escaped her lips than she intended. Her mind flashed with buried memories of the horrors unleashed by the Fae, particularly a scene where she saw an entire city undone in a Wyld Storm...The screams of the inhabitants' unmaking were seared forever in her mind..."Sorry, brother..."_

_"No need to apologize. I remember those days as well..."_

_"Too bad few do", her tongue released those righteously wrapped words more to herself than her circlemate._

)"(

When the vision passed, she was alone in the room. Though she did hear yelling beyond, voices from the performers asking what was Haropen doing, and why was he telling the crowd he stole the play they were to perform. Fatima glanced down at herself, remembering she was ablaze in golden white light. _This can't be, it just can't be..._

"They're evacuating the theater!" A Varangian voice cried, followed by more confused questions, which the man simply answered, "Let's just get out of here, something's gone wrong and I for one don't want to get caught up in whatever Haropen caused. Damn greedy fool!"

Fatima remained in the office, too afraid to reveal what she had become. _I can't believe an Anathema has taken me! What did I do to deserve this?_ Thoughts of her family's shame, of her friends fear, even the Perfect himself condemning her to death, all painfully wracked her imagination. Then her mind shifted to the inevitable chase by the Wyld Hunt, whose hunters were already in Paragon's hinterlands, searching for the other demon. She had to shut her watering eyes as the question of what a Jade daiklave would feel like when the Dragon Blooded came to end her tainted life.

Falling against a corner, she wept at her fate, ignoring the sounds of the amphitheater emptying. She hadn't realized it had gone silent until she heard a harsh woman's voice, followed by yelling and the sounds of combat. Fatima wondered what was going on, finally coaxed from her refuge and out onto the stage. There, she saw two soldiers fighting, one was the famed Exalted Immortal, Deep Pearl, and the other glowed as herself - but more bursting, tinged with an angry red that formed into a monstrous armored giant, wrapped in shattered chains and hair of flickering flames. He held a bow of strange metal, which reminded her of the Perfect's staff, using it to awkwardly lodge an arrow into the Dragon Blooded's thigh, before she slashed it from his grasp with her own well known weapon, Righteous Wave. A burst of light followed from the collision, sending the other Anathema staggering back, blinded and frantically reaching for the scimitar at his belt. Deep Pearl took advantage, ramming her trident at the man's shoulder.

Shocked by the violence and feeling some strange loyalty toward the Sun-demon, she yelled, "Stop!" To her further amazement, the cry was heeded, and the combatants faced her. "There's no need for this, there's no need for this bloodshed. Please, both of you, lower your weapons," and Fatima felt an energy, a part of her inner spirit release into her voice, making the soldiers submit.

Still absorbing their sudden compliance, she faced the other Anathema and beckoned, "Come with me."

The Dragon Blooded blocked his path. "No...You're a demon...you're..." She appeared torn, glancing between the glowing soldier and poet, "And you're one too, and the Perfect ordered me..." gritting her teeth as she tried to sort her own thoughts from whatever power Fatima held over her.

Her opponent freed his sword and finished the Terrestrial's statement, "the Perfect wants you drag her off to be killed!" The soldier's words were coated by the accent of the Abisi-citizens, instantly identifying him as the Sun-demon who plagued Paragon during Calibration.

Deep Pearl responded with a sneer, and the pair readied themselves to continue combat. The magistrate again demanded they cease, and for a second time, whatever magic soaked her command halted them. She had no idea what to do at this point, and the sounds of many armored foot steps did not help her. "Um...Deep Pearl, keep them back", was all Fatima could think of.

The Immortal continued to glare at the Abisi, along with keeping Righteous Wave ready between them, but dispelled the power channeled through the weapon and stepped toward the coming soldiers, who were still moving through the halls toward the stands. "Don't worry, I'll talk to my comrades, they'll see..." but her declaration ended in a scream of pain. Dropping her direlance as she clenched her wrist, the Terrestrial exposed the hand where the Perfect's mark had burned the citizen's oath into her flesh and soul, punishing her for its violation.

Fatima turned to her own mark, gaping at the missing scarlet eye.

"That happens when we're Chosen," the disguised Abisi informed Fatima, finishing his jumping descent to her. "We need to go," echoing the increasing closeness of her city's armsmen.

_Chosen? Chosen to be cursed_, she bitterly said to herself. However, there was no time to wallow over the ruin of her life and simply let her instincts of flight takeover. "Follow me," she urged, leading him backstage. "There's some rear entrances for..."

"Wait," he paused her. "We can't go that way. They got the whole theater surrounded."

"Eternal Eye show me the way," loudly letting her frustrations to be known.

The fellow Anathema asked if their was any other exits, some secret passage that could take them beyond the host waiting outside. Biting her lip, she wracked over her long familiarity with the theater grounds, until she managed to snatch free one faint hope, then rushed down the steps to the basement storage. The extensive space spilled with all manner of props, from suits of armor and blunted swords to the opulent costumes meant to represent the spirits. Thankfully, their foulness showed a convenience by their animas shinning a path through the pitch.

At a small unassuming entryway, cloaked by a drape was a brief descending stairway that would bring one to a latrine; its smell masked by a pair of incense burners, bolted on each of the walls. The Abisi questioned where she was taking him, but once he saw the stone bench lining the far wall and the holes where one sat to 'quench the earth', he found his answers. Fatima couldn't believe she was considering this, _And earlier I worried about staining my stola with ink._

"We can get into the sewers here, well if we can find a way to move the slab," she studied the bench, wondering if her infernal might included super strength.

He motioned for her to step back, "I got this." Then he aimed an arrow at their obstacle, and before she could raise an objection of how that was going to break stone, the projectile began to glow, bursting into a golden-red. Around the arrow head, the fire formed into an angry mawed face, roaring as it was let loose. Exploding upon impact, it shattered the bench, exposing Paragon's subterranean streams.

Gaping at him, Fatima asked, "How did you do that?"

He appeared just as clueless. "I...I don't know. It just occurred to me, like with all our powers."

All she could do was shrug. _I guess, like whatever I did to you and Deep Pearl._

Another power was added to her knowledge as the Abisi easily dropped into the knee deep waste-water below, not even phased by what she assumed was nearly a ten arm drop. It was a feat Fatima handily mimicked, filling her with a rush of pride, given physical aptitude, aside from theatrical and religious dance, was always a secondary concern. However, the cold water, a reeking brown sludge, was very much a burden, and one the young magistrate had to endure.

"Oh, Sunrise and Sunset's mercy this stinks," Fatima loudly voiced her discomfort to Paragon's twin river spirits.

The other Anathema urged her on, "Come on, the sooner we move, the sooner we're out of this stench." Then he covered his lower face from the stench by tearing off the sleeve; an action she followed by using her head scarf instead.

He took the lead, heading down the narrow passages. These sewers were one of many of Paragon's wonders that made the city-state stand out over their more primitive neighbors. Utilizing recovered First Age engineering knowledge and the geomancy of its manses, running water was provided for not only waste disposal, but to fill the common wells, fountains, bath houses, and even the personal faucets of the magistracy's homes.

At a turn she halted, "How do you know where to go?"

"I'm following the flow of water," he explained. "From what I know of how these underground rivers work, is they'll take us to the sea eventually, or at least another latrine to get out...uh...sorry, we didn't even give each other our names."

A true and odd fact, given the bond she felt for him, going far beyond a mutual need for survival and a shared curse. It was as if she gazed upon an old and dear friend. "Yeah...well I'm Fatima Rauor, magistrate in service of the Ministry of Arts...well use to be, now."

"Wind Fire...but I'm sure you've already heard of me, the rebel Three Fires who was taken by an Anathema for defying the _oh _so great Perfect," he irritably returned, but it carried a saddened undertone equal to her own.

"Yes...but I didn't know your name."

"Figures. Anyways, at least we're free now."

"Yeah, free from everything I love..." bitterly proclaiming as her thoughts returned to her family, from her grandmother and parents to all her brothers and sisters, stretching to her kin and close friends, even reaching her loyalty to the greater citizenry of Paragon. _Our home, our refuge_, letting her tears fall on the missing scarlet eye.

)"(

_She fell against the wall, leaving a hand print of her own blood, as well as her sister's. Also leaning her circlemate against the remnant of a building, she moved aside the strands of tawny hair, soaked with sweat and blood, which surrounded her pale-brown unconscious face, still a glow from the full golden circle of her caste mark. She then checked her sister's gaping wound, poring blood from the puncture in her Orichalcum plate, and placed her fingers upon the injured flesh, letting her power flow through the touch to heal what she could._

_"Please Chumana, stay with me!" Her voice was filled with desperation, having watched her previous incarnation die not even fifty years past._

_"Isharia," a male voice startled her, twisting around to face it with one of her short-daiklaves._

_Seeing it belonged to her sneaky brother, she lowered her blade and snarled, "Five curses on you, Gray Smile!" Considering the battle raging just a few blocks away, in the ruined city about them, she couldn't help her aggressive reaction. Her shout had also brought the attention, and Jade weapons, of the half-dozen Dragon Blooded who were on watch. The shock of her circlemate slipping by them was replaced by agitated shame as they went back to their duties. _

_The dusky skinned and shaggy red haired youth replied with an eye roll, "Well pardon me. But how is she?" _

_"Honestly...I'm not sure. Gods, what were these fools thinking?" Reflecting on the war, how the latest Raksha advance drove these fools right into their arms, listening to their lies as they became addicted to the madness that spawned the Fair Folk. Glancing to the pitch sky of swirling green clouds, which formed into ghostly faces expressing a range of emotions, sending out literal laughter to crying actual tears, fed her frustrations even more over these mortals' treason. She decided to starve off her bitterness by focusing on ending it,"Did you manage to take out the leaders?" _

"_Oh yes. Relieved them of their burdens with a little love from Corona's Kiss here," and raised the long slender reaper daiklave, coated thickly in blood, "but they didn't care too much for her touch. Shame, makes Corona feel unwanted."_

_Ignoring another of his constant bad jests, her eyes were guided to a sight speeding through the night, which offered them some hope. The flying chariot zoomed down, landing with a grace that defied its speed, holding her other two circlemates._

_The bearded middle aged pilot stepped down first, ready for battle in his own Sunlight colored armor and gripping the power bow he helped end the Primordial's rule with; but like with all the Solars, he was well stained from conflict, hurrying to this calamity from another battle. He grumbled, "Looks like I have to save my sucklers again."_

_Her red-headed brother flung back another joke, "It seems so our Old Man of the Dawn." _

_He didn't have time to so much as return a glare as their foes broke through the line, slaughtering those mortal and Terrestrial legionaries who retreated or made a final stand. Seeing the horde of mockeries approach, it was hard to picture them as once human, mutated by the Wyld energies into phantasmal skinned humanoids that flexed lengthy razor sharp claws, and whose hair was little more than wisps of various shaded mist; their faces wore exaggerated expressions, similar to clouds above, warped into extremes of anger to glee at their murder. Their fighting strength was enhanced by the Fae's monstrous enforcers, dreamed up whole cloth for war._

_Their eldest brother grimaced at the Wyld mutants, "Gaia's mercy." Then he barked to their youngest circlemate, having not even taken his Second Breath a decade ago,"Walking Night, ride Chumana out of here on the winds. Everyone else, follow my lead."_

_Calling on the flows of Essence through precise movements that rang the hollow and prayer etched bracelets adorning his wrists, and lowly whistled to Direction of Air, her brother's anima exploded as the spell summoned up a funnel of wind that surrounded himself and their wounded sister, carrying them away. Meanwhile, their oldest urged his craft to hover an arm closer, and aiming his weapon high, he brought forth an arrow of pure reddish-golden light, which grew brighter and larger as more of his vast Sun-gifted power was fueled into the projectile. When loosed, it soared into the sky to exploded into dozens of duplicates that rained a fiery death on the enemy; and the charm was repeated a dozen times in the span of a breath, felling swathes and leaving more of the city in rubble. _

_Their destruction brought a grim and satisfied smile to her wrath toward the traitors._

)"(

"Fatima!" Wind Fire's cry summoned her back to the nauseating tunnels. He stood ready to offer assistance, which she waved off.

She glanced her questioning eyes at him. "It was like I just saw another life...Wha-what was that?"

"They're our lives from the First Age, well at least I think they are. They came to me too, and yeah, they can be really overwhelming, but they fade. They led me to find Bright Hawk," and raised the power bow, whose name left an echo in her mind, recognizing it as the same weapon the old man wielded in her vision.

Hearing they 'fade' brought on a hopeful question, considering he didn't act like a monster, like the ones 'she' or whoever that was in her vision fought. "So you managed to overcome the Anathema's spirit?"

"Yes. I mean, no...What I mean is it doesn't take you over. It becomes a part of you, but you're still you. From what I can make out of the visions, is we're not demons...we're Exalted, like the Dragon Blooded, but just the Chosen of the Sun. Solars is our true name...I guess."

Conflicted from a lifetime of being told otherwise, Fatima couldn't decide if this was the truth or the very lies Anathema were said to speak. Yet, just like Wind Fire told her, she didn't feel any destructive megalomaniacal urges. She was still herself, still the same youthful magistrate and secretive playwright she had always been.

"I know how you feel," he assured her. "It's really all confusing, Ken-Metarma's breath it still is. But we need to move...there's time enough to talk on this later."

Nodding her compliance, the pair continued onward, following the foul flows for what must have been Moon-movements. She didn't even want to speak, just concentrated on moving her feet while juggling the anxiety over their most certain pursuit, and her disgust over the insects and rats that scavenged off the brackishness; the gradual dimming of her anima was a blessing she couldn't be thankful enough for. _I'm surprised I'm not retching my dinner all about this pit_, the feeling was not wholly absent however. _How do the sewer sweepers stand this?_

Respite finally came when they ironically discovered small mounds of dung, collecting in the large opening that reached up to a public latrine. Again, summoning the magic that turned his arrow into bolt of power, Wind Fire breached an opening for their escape. Managing to grip a broken edge of the bench on his leap, he leaned down to help catch Fatima's less impressive jump, and then pulled her up to grasp bench as well. Out fist, Fatima pulled off the scarf and sucked down fresh air, desiring nothing more than to rip off her ruined and reeking garments, but modesty prevented her as the Abisi finished his ascent.

"Where do we go now," she asked, more voicing her doubts than seeking answers. "Aside from being covered in filth, we're still glowing. We'll be taken at once."

"Maybe we can get some fresh clothes off some eyeless, especially a robe or cloak to cover up our glow. Then you should hide until Sunrise and flee through the gates, find a caravan that'll take you. One of your necklaces or bracelets will be more than enough to buy passage; just don't show them all or they'll try and rob you."

It was sound advice, but still, Fatima couldn't believe this fate. Then she caught Wind Fire had not factored himself into this escape plan. "What about you? Aren't you coming?"

"No. I have other business here. You getting exalted while I was here just happened to be in the stars."

"And what's that? You can't stay, once Deep Pearl tells them, they'll know you're here."

"It doesn't matter. I came to kill the Perfect, and if I get to continue this life after, it doesn't matter."

Horrified at his mission, which was brewed from a mix of her loyalty to her Eternal and concerns over his well being, all Fatima could utter was, "No...you can't."

He sneered, "Why not! What did you think I came back for, to make amends? He murdered my sister and brother. I watched them die in my arms, and there was nothing I could do! And that bastard we'll probably do the same your kin, and you if he can. So go and do something more worthy with our gift, like in our visions. All I got is this anymore."

Wind Fire moved toward the exit, murder in his eyes. She grabbed his shoulder though, drunk off her concoction of motivations to prevent his intentions. _I have to save him, and the Perfect._ "Wind Fire...I can't imagine the pain you're feeling. But...but killing isn't going to bring them back. Taking a step closer and placing a hand on his arm, "Please, you have to go. They'll kill you too. Deep Pearl almost did, and she's far from the only Dragon Blooded that protects him."

"I told you, I don't care!"

"I do! And whether you succeed or not, do you know who will suffer his vengeance? Do you? Your people will, especially if you succeed. You have to go for them." She found this path of reasoning from the worry over her own family; fearing their ruler, or more likely the city itself, would blame the whole of the Rauors for any crimes committed by either of them. One Anathema would be seen the same as the other. "Maybe there's some magic out there, left over from the First Age that can free them," and she could just taste the desperation soaking her tongue. "Think about it. If you could set them free, wouldn't that be more of a way to honor your brother and sister? So that your people could all live free again?"

Closing his eyes, he let out frustrated growl.

"Please, swear it to me," and grabbed his hand, giving her magic and her own words one final try to convince him. "Swear you'll go out there and find a way to free your people, to save them. Please." _Just go, please, even if it's a pile of Yeddim-shit._

He groaned, hesitating as her mystic persuasiveness fought its way into his heart, "Fine. I'll go. I'll go and find a way to break his curse." The disgust, which wafted stronger than the nastiness of the sewers, mingled with his enchanted desire to please her, as well as a glint of hope in this new found purpose. Then Fatima's nimbus flashed brighter, and just as what happened with Haropen, she felt a binding pore out of her and tie itself around the vow.

Minus the killing urge, Wind Fire continued with his departure. However, he paused at seeing the poet not follow. "Come on."

"I can't...I have my own family to take of."

"But they'll kill you!"

"I'm not your concern anymore, Wind Fire," standing her ground. "You made a vow, now go and full fill it."

Giving her a last sad glance, he shook his head and vanished into the outside night.

)"(

Thinking on Wind Fire's claim of his brother and sister being executed was what snapped her out of flight mode. She had heard the official proclamation, and more so the rumors swimming about it, concerning the Abisi warrior and his kin's attempt to revolt against their their citizen's oath, and how he had been punished for stepping beyond his place by being possessed by an Anathema spirit. In a way this was far worse than becoming eyeless. If they had indeed been traitors, Fatima felt it was a warranted punishment. _But why me? I've been nothing but loyal to Paragon and the Perfect, doing my duties as a magistrate. Is it because I hid behind Scarlet Whisper? Is this why, since I hadn't opened my heart to my home?_ These queries also cast doubt on any harsh judgments against Wind Fire, particularly over his claims they weren't demons, but Exalted of Initi. _He's just the Torch Bearer of the Sun though._ Yet at the same time she wasn't sure if these sympathies originated more from the odd favor she felt toward him. Overall, her most pressing worry was for the safety of her family. _I have to show the Perfect whatever sin brought this on me was of my own doing and not theirs. Please let me emulate your sure tongue when I speak to you, my Eternal._

Given that she was bound in heavy shackles, as well as blindfolded and gagged, and wrapped in a dark hooded robe to hide the soft luminance still brimming from her body, Fatima could do little but fret and pray as she was hurriedly escorted via horseback to meet Paragon's eternal ruler. After the Abisi escaped, the magistrate waited in the latrine until her harriers discovered where they breached the sewers, and surrendered. The magic over Deep Pearl had been spent, and whatever devotion she showed her earlier had been replaced by wrath, which she showed by slamming the butt of Righteous Wave right into her stomach. Placing the tip under her chin, the Dragon Blooded ordered, "Put this abomination in chains, and make sure she's completely gagged. We don't need anymore of this Deceiver's magic gaining control of us again." Then directing her voice at the captive, she lowly declared, "And you're lucky the Perfect gave strict orders to bring you to him alive, otherwise only your head would be presented."

The cloth over her vision was pulled off to reveal two fangs of Immortals encircled her, weapons ready for any possible threat. Beyond this escort, was the mosaic covered grounds before the walls guarding the center of their city – where the opulent dwelling of their eternal lord lied. More of the White Jade clad elites protected this inner sanctum, manning the battlements and towers, keeping an eye on the newcomers as their fellows within opened the gates. This tall entryway was made of the appropriately named Iron Wood, harvested from the Great Eastern Forest, and marked by a grand gold-plated engraving of Paragon's heraldry, along with vertical etchings of occult symbols, which the poet could oddly make some sense of; she read both prayers to the house spirit and what she assumed were protective spells. Along the concrete arch were impressions that read - "Refuge through Loyalty," and "Peace through Obedience," some of the Perfect's more well known maxims.

Dismounting, they prodded her through, entering the extensive courtyard that was thickly shadowed by numerous fruit bearing trees and other carefully pruned vegetation, all fed by several streams that cut through the grounds, filling her ears with their bubbly course. To Fatima, it was a serene marvel, and a wild forest as far as her desert born eyes were concerned. Moving closer to their ruler's home, following a walkway of white marble, they came to the clearing all citizens were gifted to see at least once, accompanied on each side by a fountain; the statues that streamed water into the pools, teeming with exotic fish, were of the city's twin river spirits – each had the hind quarters of a river eel, and the upper body of human, differing in Streaming Sunrise being feminine and Current of Sunset masculine. Here, every Paragonese child of ten years and every refugee would come before the Perfect to grip his golden staff and recite the oath of citizenship. Then they would receive a cup from one of the fountains, following the Southlands' custom of sealing a contract by drinking the most sacred substance in their arid Direction. A magistrate was given a second ceremony, where they vowed to undertake greater responsibilities for their city in exchange for the privileges of such a station. Fatima remembered both times fondly, feeling a pride to not only keep her color, but continue the legacy the Rauors had built. Sadly, her third visit was one of utter shame, _But hopefully I can bring one final honor to my family and Paragon._

Their wait was only a few breaths in length, as the Perfect approached from farther down the path, dressed in his robes of gold and silver, carrying his gem encrusted staff. He wasn't alone, accompanied by a short, but broadly built man, with a closely cropped beard and dusky skin that was covered by simple green robes; he appeared little older than the frozen youth of their centuries old ruler. Fatima was sure that he was Emerald Breath, another 'Outcast' or 'Lost Egg', as the Scarlet Dynasty termed the Dragon Blooded born outside of their bloodlines, much like Deep Pearl (despite the common knowledge she was the bastard child of an affair between a magistrate and the Realm's old Satrap). He was well reputed to be largely responsible for the greenery that surrounded them, as well as being one of the Perfect's top advisers, admittedly in an unofficial capacity.

Spotting Fatima, the Perfect's eyes darkened. "Untie her at once."

Deep Pearl hesitated, taken back by the order, but was quick to call her subordinates to free the poet. And once so, the monarch stepped closer, causing her to instinctively lower her eyes. He studied the ring of light still emanating from her brow, "I believe this mark makes you of the Eclipse caste."

"I would have to agree, my Eternal," Emerald Breath spoke, rubbing his chin. "But you are far better read in the First Age's lore than I."

Eyes wide, Fatima's mind raced back to that incestuous joining of the celestial paths, to how Anisa and Naomi had warned her not to linger upon it. _That must be why it took me! Eternal eye, Why didn't I listen? _She then dropped to her knees, and so suddenly it sprung the soldiers to reach for their weapons. The Perfect's hand stayed them.

Unable to hold back her tears, laying her head low in submission, she repented. "Perfect, please my Eternal, I know I've been made an Anathema, and for you, Paragon, the Realm, and all of Creation, my life should be forfeit. But please spare my family, this curse hass no bearing on them or their loyalty and faith in you. Please I beg you."

"Look up at me, my Scarlet Whisper," the Perfect warmly said, actually touching his fingers to her face, gently lifting her chin. "There's no need for that, and no need to worry for your family." He turned to the Immortals, "Go and fetch the Varangian."

Deep Pearl again paused, except this time she put voice to her doubts. "But, my Eternal...do you really want us to leave you alone..."

He cut her off firmly, but not harshly, "Yes, Deep Pearl. I am sure, and I will be fine. Now follow my wishes."

The soldiers silently complied, bowing before their departure.

Returning his ancient eyes to Fatima, he cracked a grin. "Let me make one thing clear. You are not a demon, you have been chosen by fate with a gift."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing for a second time that night, "What?"

"Just listen, Fatima. The Realm and their Immaculate faith would have you believe you are possessed by a monster, but I ask you, do you feel possessed? Are you not indeed Fatima Rauor, the poet and playwright who has raised my city with her pen, under the name of Scarlet Whisper?"

_It's the same as Wind Fire told me...Does this mean he was right? Five curses on you Fatima, just answer him_. "Well...yes. I don't feel like a demon...I just want to go back to using my gifts in service to you and all of Paragon." _Yes, like my mother always says, the Perfect knows my heart. He would know if I was a monster._

"Excellent. And now you have new gifts to serve our glorious city." He brought his staff down in between them. "Would you again take the oath, vowing your ever loyalty to me?"

She couldn't believe this. Was he truly making this offer to her? The fate she pictured was either a blade of Paragon or the Wyld Hunt taking her head, not an offer for further service. "But what about the Hunt?"

"They do not know of you, and they never will. Your new secret will be your new found powers; and with them, my Scarlet Whisper, you will keep the darkness at bay that even now threatens my city. So again, will you be _my_ loyal servant?"

Her answer was to grasp the rune etched scepter and utter the oath she had long ago committed to memory, "I promise my life to the Perfect and his city of Paragon. I will emulate my Eternal's service to the citizens of the city by serving his everlasting reign with all my faith and skill. I will obey all laws he sets forth, and never cause harm to my Eternal or any fellow citizen."

A flash of light surrounded the hand she gripped the relic with, feeling its power cement her oath.

The Perfect then declared, "Now rise as one of loyal citizens, again, my Scarlet Whisper."

Complying, Fatima rose, turning her hand to happily see the scarlet eye marked her once again. A burst of relief left her stunned, almost light headed, causing her to nearly fail at noticing the Immortals' return. They guided along Haropen, thrust up and gagged. She couldn't help but feel satisfied seeing the thief as so, shaking in fear at the consequence of his crime.

Turning his attention to the newcomer, The Perfect sighed. "What to do with you? You come to my city as guests, paid greatly to entertain my citizens, but then you steal from one...Some rulers might strip you and your troupe of every dinar and drop of water, and then exiled to the sands. Others might take a hand too, or throw you in chains to work their fields or brothels." Those words made his eyes widen even more in his attempt to gulp down his terror. "However, I am in a forgiving mood this night. I will allow you, and the whole of the Bahata to make up for your crimes by serving the people you intended to swindle," then he placed his staff prominently before Haropen, "and at the same time enjoy all the benefits of being citizens of Paragon. Of course, if your loyalty to your land of birth is too much for such a submission, you can be sold to the Guild, and of course after your tongues and fingers are removed. I can't have any more rumors, spoken or written of, concerning the Anathema and my city."

_See, I can't understand you, Wind Fire. Any other ruler would have been a savage and probably had them all executed to keep me secret...Eternal Eye, they would have just turned me over to the Hunt for that matter._ Fatima proudly looked upon her ruler,_ He is truly the Perfect._ Yet her eyes remained locked on his staff, hypnotized by the fist-sized pearl held in the grasp of its spiraling top...

)"(

_She sat on her plush throne, whose back was decorated with an Orichalcum Sun, flanked by descending silver plated falcons, which were the symbolic animals of her caste. From this seat she had ruled over her personal domain for over a thousand years. Her Lunar husband sat beside her on his own throne, which was made from his patron's chosen material instead. Both lied under a dome of diamond-hard stain glass, which could allow either the Unconquered Sun or Luna to light the airy and beatifully decorated chamber._

_Before them, the line of her subjects came forth, traveling up the steps of her palace-manse. Today, the mortals she had long protected, as was her duty as a Chosen of the Sun, would give their total submission to this wardship. This was all thanks to her and a circlemate's latest experiments in sorcery, working to forever starve off the possibility of the treason she saw during the Raksha Scourge, and the many times since._

_She had long known where this fault came from, springing from the short lifespan and frail bodies their makers had given mortals. The Primordials had made humans to fear them, and thus worship them; never challenging the deities' rule as they sent off their Essence, through this devotion, to feed their enslavers. With the Scepter of Peace and Order she held out - its grooves, bends, and gemstones focusing the energies summoned by the powerful spells carved along its beautiful length – the Chosen would finally give her wards the security they needed._

)"(

* * *

A/N: And to ease any minds, here lies the end of the 'individual adventure cycle', and the circle will begin to reform starting with the next chapter (also the end of massive clumps of flashbackery). To further note, this also ends any formalized cycling through of each Solar. Some will be getting more airtime than others, usually in clusters relevant to the ongoing tale. This is just a fair warning to anyone so they don't feel snubbed if their favorite character isn't seen for a few chapters. Any comments, concerns, or reporting of typos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
